


2am, dream-between.

by unchartedandunknown



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop & Tattoo Parlor, Canonical Character Death, Eventual Happy Ending, Intoxication, Liminal Spaces & Leylines, M/M, [obligatory standard apology for ppl seeing this], no elaboration done on backstory whatsoever idk her
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:54:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 27,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23316463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unchartedandunknown/pseuds/unchartedandunknown
Summary: In a world where everything should be linear, not everything is as it seems; dreams and reality twist and converge to meet again in the spaces where time warps itself around the edges.Ashe has trouble differentiating between dreams and reality (or so he thinks).
Relationships: Ashe Duran | Ashe Ubert/Yuris Leclair | Yuri Leclerc, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 22
Kudos: 73





	2am, dream-between.

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: obviously I don’t fcuking own the characters or the series bc if I did they would at least have a support. Intsys where you at :)) I just wanna talk

“Caspar, does anything ever feel wrong to you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Not _bad_ wrong, but...like there’s something there that’s different from before.”

“Like when your stomach hurts 'cause you ate too much spicy food?”

“Sure, let’s go with that. But do you ever feel that when you’re not eating spicy food? When you’re just sitting down, or walking or something, and everything feels different suddenly?”

“Mm...no, can’t say that I have, sorry. Why’d you ask?”

“...It’s probably nothing. Just thinking about something.”

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


When Ashe was still in high school, he walked into a dreamscape. That’s what he thought at first glance.

It was after archery practice he walked the halls, stretching his arms out, thinking of the homework that was awaiting him once he got home. The school was eerily empty, as schools tend to be when they’re devoid of the usual students and staff and sounds of complaints and laughter and lectures.

The change wasn’t so much as turning a corner than into a gradual, tonal shift. It was like Ashe’s mind made space for something he thought wasn’t there and convinced him it always was.

The girl emerged into existence from a shadow next to the orange afterglow shining through the windows, rising and parting in a breath to reveal her. The two stopped what they were doing to look at each other, as if just seeing each other for the first time. For some reason she was wearing a suit, tie loosened, hands pocketed calmly.

“The school festival ended already,” she said. “We’re just cleaning up now. Did you want to try some leftover sweets? We have cake.”

Now that Ashe looked beyond her, he could see the rest of the hallway had some filled trash bags placed outside classrooms. Paper littered the ground to be swept up. A large white banner had fluttered facedown to the ground.

What she said didn’t make sense, but Ashe agreed and followed her anyway. In this golden dusk, it didn’t feel like anything could go wrong.

They reached her classroom. He slid the door open, noting the decorations that were in the process of being torn down.

There was nothing there.

When Ashe turned back, the girl was gone, as if she never existed.

Nothing to do about that, he decided. His mind was probably playing tricks on him, or his imagination had run too far again. That’s what he thought to himself as he walked the rest of the empty, clean hallway.

(Besides that, Ashe’s school festival had been last week.)

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


Odd things used to happen in Ashe’s high school. Laughter could be heard in places where there was no one, there was the sound of an oboe being played in the west wing of the school’s second floor in between class time, lessons that were never taught appeared and disappeared on the chalkboard.

It was easy for students to create rumours, ghosts and monsters and the like that walked alongside them in the school’s halls, invisible to their eyes. Caspar and Ashe spent much of lunchtime searching for any proof of said ghosts, but came up empty.

Students talked of seeing other students with different uniforms: ties red instead of blue, an extra button on the uniform where there shouldn’t be. Extra sports jerseys found in clubrooms. A student’s missing art project returned, right where they remembered leaving the last time days, weeks or months ago.

It could all easily be some weird quirk of the school’s, but Ashe likes to think otherwise. He makes stories straight out of fantasy, each theory as outlandish as the last: the school is a front for an underground lab; the school made a deal with the fae to let them occupy this spot of land to build their school; there’s a spell cast on the school that lets them see the ghost of students past. He thinks someday he’ll open the janitor’s closet and instead of finding cleaning supplies they’ll find the gateway to another world, their school being on the cusp of it.

(But life has never been fantastical for Ashe, and he is no protagonist in a fantasy series.)

Instead, he graduates when the cherry blossoms are in full bloom, his friends hounding over him to take a graduation photo. For a moment, as Dimitri’s father pauses to take their picture, a scent rises above the fresh wind and sky, the smell of flowers.

He looks around, but there’s nothing there, only cherry blossoms dancing in the breeze.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


“Aaand that’s the last of them!” Caspar sets down the last box and collapses on the ground, energy spent. A few feet away, Annette laughs, straightening a few of the stacked boxes. She and Ashe join him to lie back on the ground, eyes on the bare white ceiling.

“Are you gonna paint any of the walls?” Annette asks, pointing to the white walls of what Ashe is planning to be the living room.

“Maybe. Wallpaper might be a better option.”

It is late afternoon and Ashe, with the help of his two friends, has finished moving in right above the store he purchased, soon to become his tattoo parlour. For now, his home is made of bare rooms and full boxes until he can summon the energy to begin emptying them.

“Hey, Ashe,” Caspar starts, “what did the agent say about this place, again?”

Ashe thinks Caspar still remembers what he told him, but answers anyway: “The building was sold after the owner passed away.”

“So you’re the first to purchase it?” Annette asks.

“Yeah.”

“Ooh, but, what if it’s haunted?”

Cheeto, Ashe’s grey tabby cat, launches himself onto a precarious stack of boxes. Caspar steadies the box with a hand, Cheeto’s tail twitching as he settles on top of his makeshift throne. Ashe will need to search for his bed through the piles of knickknacks before he can sleep.

“Ashe can just call me, of course,” Caspar says, ever-confident despite the fact that they have 1) never seen a ghost before, and 2) he’s not sure what Caspar can do against a ghost. Wouldn't his punches go straight through their corporeal bodies?

Ashe laughs. “I’ll take you up on that if Cheeto doesn’t scare the ghost away.” It’s said a little jokingly, and Caspar laughs right back. They fall silent once more, contemplating the emptiness of the room, the things awaiting them in the future.

To thank them for helping him settle down in his new place of work, Ashe cooks them dinner, the smell wafting through the windows into the purpling sky. They dig through several boxes to find the cutlery. Without a table they settle for eating on the ground, surrounded by boxes waiting to be unpacked. Ashe leaves the dishes in the sink after they’ve had their meal, and the trio spend their afternoon talking about nothing in particular - the Olympics this summer, Sylvain’s continuous failures in his dating life, the bakery Annette’s working at.

Later, Ashe will need to buy furniture to fill in the gaps in a space that seems larger than life for one person alone, but today he is content to watch Caspar lift Cheeto in an imitation of _that_ Lion King scene as Annette is overcome with giggles, laptop on the floor paused on said scene. He tastes the word _home_ on his tongue and embraces the first thing he can call his own.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


It isn’t easy to build a business from the ground up. Ashe spends his time answering emails, rushing through procedures and purchases, hiring tattoo artists to work alongside him. The first is Felix, who approaches Ashe himself, and the two negotiate and plan their schedules for a regular week. The second is Marianne, a woman who recently finished her apprenticeship in another tattoo parlour. The last is a strange, chilling man covered head-to-toe in tattoos who doesn’t give him a last name, but Ashe is willing to give him a chance, especially after seeing the detail put into his art portfolio. Later, he finds out that the man is related to Mercedes, the woman who owns the bakery Annette works at.

Through it all, Ashe manages to find time to set up his small apartment above the shop. The fridge’s front becomes the holder of sticky notes in the weeks to come, his kitchen table home to his many sketches and doodles whenever he has downtime.

Overall, the move-in goes calmly (as calm as any move can get), though the tiny apartment still seems to be acclimating to his presence: doors slam open and closed at odd times in the evening, there’s a consistent smell of flowers and pollen that persists throughout the shop, the mirror in the washroom fogs up sometimes even though there’s no one using the shower. At night, sometimes it feels like there’s something warm and heavy pressing onto him; he tells himself that it’s Cheeto curling up to sleep behind him.

(Sometimes he is right. And sometimes he turns, and there is nothing there at all, but the imprint of something that should.)

Customers come and go, as do the days. Ashe considers these off occurrences between work minor wonders.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


_Why is there cat fur everywhere on the couch?_

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


Ashe waits for Dedue to finish taking the customer’s order. When the drink is handed to the customer and they leave with a word of thanks, Ashe sips his caramel latte and hooks his ankles together.

Dedue picks up the conversation where they left off with ease. “And how has work been?”

“I think we’re doing quite well. We’ve had customers come in. word’s been getting around about us, so we have some people coming to have a look-see...things are going better than I expected, to be honest. And you?”

The coffee shop is almost empty this early in the morning, with only a customer in the back with their headphones in. Ashe had stayed up for most of the night, drawing and waiting for a response from Marianne - apparently she had someone she wanted to recommend to work at the tattoo parlour. He stretches his arms up, relishing in the release of tension and sighs before slumping back on the counter with a wan smile. Dedue sends a small one back.

“Work has been steady here.”

“Do you enjoy it?”

“For the most part. The customers are usually polite.”

Ashe tilts his head. “‘Usually’?”

Dedue shrugs, unbothered. “Sometimes during closing time, there are customers who try to order alcohol.”

“Oh. That’s...strange, isn’t it?”

“I think they just confuse us with the bar down the street.”

“The storefronts don’t exactly look similar, though.”

Dedue only offers another shrug, because there’s no other way to explain the strangeness of it, but it piques Ashe’s interest in something he had long forgotten. He leans forward a bit, conspiratorial in his whisper.

“Do you remember that day, in front of the school? We just started second year, and the cherry blossom were falling.”

Dedue nods.

“There was a boy in front of the school who looked like he was talking to someone, and when asked he just gestured at the air like there was someone there.”

“And he described a girl who never went to the school.”

“Right, and her uniform - gray blazer, red tie, five buttons.”

Dedue tilts his head, gaze not entirely uninterested. “So?”

“I feel like,” Ashe says, stops. Tries again. “Do you ever get the feeling that there’s something there that no one else but you notice? Likeーweird noises at night, or lights turning on and off.”

“That sounds more like a horror movie,” Dedue says carefully. “But, yes. Sometimes, I think I have.”

“Just the other day,” Ashe says, hurriedly now, knowing that sometimes voicing a fear will make them come true, “I went back upstairs at the shop to grab something, but I heard something in the washroom, and I went to investigate. You know how I have the toilet roll set backwards, so Cheeto doesn’t unroll it?”

“Yes.”

“Well, _someone_ turned it back, and Cheeto unrolled the whole thing.”

“Could a customer have gone in and turned it so it was facing the front?” Dedue asks after a moment.

Ashe shakes his head furiously. “I always lock the door, and I can’t think of any reason why someone would break in, not steal anything but turn the toilet paper roll so it’s facing the front. I know this sounds bizarre,” Ashe sighs, taking another sip of his lukewarm latte. “There’s just been...a lot of weird stuff happening. Maybe I just need more sleep?”

“Maybe,” Dedue says eventually, unconvinced, and when Ashe goes to leave, Dedue stops him to say he can call anytime if Ashe needs any help. He’s sweet like that.

But Ashe isn’t even sure if there’s anything he needs Dedue’s help for.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


Exhaustion hits like a freight train as Ashe stumbles out of bed after bingeing one too many episodes of a Korean rom-com Sylvain had recommended to him. Tired as he is, it takes him some time to notice the new objects joining the ones already littered at the kitchen table. He weighs them in his hand after he puts down his bowl of cereal, weighing them in his hand.

They’re a pair of purple 20-sided dice. He rolls them experimentally on the table and lands on a 10 and 7.

It’s only after he’s had breakfast that he notices something is missing from the table. He searches the table, and when it doesn’t turn up he moves to the living room, and then his bedroom, but he turns up nothing.

His book is missing.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


“Nice of you to finally pick up your phone.”

_“I’m a little busy right now, Yuri-bird. What do you want?”_

“Rude. I was wondering if you left your copy of...book one of _The Crescent Moon War Chronicles._ ”

_“That’s not a book I own.”_

“So this copy I found at my table isn’t yours?”

_“No. Do you have me confused with someone else?”_

“No, but I thought you were the most likely to own it. Thanks.”

_“See you at seven?”_

“Sure.”

  
  
  


* * *

Okay, maybe Ashe just left it lying around somewhere.

He tells himself this, each time more desperate than the last as he combs through his tattoo parlour in hopes of finding his book.

“Where do you last remember seeing it?” Lysithea says, the newest addition to the staff working in the parlour, in charge of handling everyone’s schedules and setting them up with customers. She’s leaning over the counter, watching Ashe sweep up debris.

Ashe ducks his head, eyes on the dirt and dust he’s gathered. The scent of flowers rises, present and gone in a blink. “My kitchen table.”

“Which you searched already,” she says, and Ashe nods at the statement. Lysithea purses her lips in thought. “If you lost it, could you just buy another copy?”

“I would, but it was a limited edition, and I had it signed by the author.”

After he dumps the trash and closes up the parlour, bids Lysithea goodnight, Ashe tries to calm himself down in front of the washroom. It’s fine, everything’s fine. Ashe can’t tell if he’s just imagining all of this or if there’s something happening, but the proof is there. The question is if there’s enough proof for Ashe to believe what’s happening around him.

He looks up in the mirror and surges back at what he sees. His heart pounds insistently against his ribcage, trying to find his footing where his legs turned sluggish.

When he dares to step forward and peer into the mirror once more, the only thing he sees is his own face, freckles stark against the pale of his face.

For a moment he could have sworn he saw a different face there, reaching up to dab eyeshadow on top of eyelids.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  


On Saturday, Ashe visits his siblings’ college dorm with Christophe. Eleana is the one who greets them at the door, hair smushed to one side of her head and half out of its ponytail, toothbrush hanging from her mouth.

“Did you _just_ wake up?” Christophe says exasperatedly as they toe off their shoes and let themselves in. Ashe beelines for the kitchen to drop off their food supplies.

Their sister replies with a muffled, “It’s Saturday” through the toothbrush. Their brother, Allen, is in the living room, and doesn’t spare them a glance from his laptop, eyes drooping the way they do when he’s pulled an all-nighter, coffee long gone cold in the cup on the table. Ashe, knowing any disturbances can set off his brother, prefers to sidle up beside him to see what he’s working on: a new set of codes.

Christophe leans over the couch behind them and simply says, “Disgusting.” Allen types on with inhuman speed, unaware of his new audience, music blaring loudly from headphones.

“He’s been like that since last night,” Eleana says flippantly after returning from the washroom, toothbrush gone and hair redone to a short braid.

Christophe taps Allen softly twice on the shoulder. Allen flinches violently, and Ashe moves to catch the laptop before it falls to the ground.

“Erーhey,” Allen says, taking off his headphones. “I didn’t hear you guys come in. what are you doing here so late at night?”

Christophe gestures wordlessly to the sunlight streaming through the curtains. Allen blinks.

“Oh.”

“See, this is why Ashe and I have to check up on you guys every once in a while. You’re completely useless on your own.”

Eleana bristles. “I think I’d manage fine.”

“Oh, you think so, yeah? Tell me what happened the last time you tried to boil water.”

“Iー”

“Exactly,” Christophe barrels on. “You are both useless without your big brothers taking care of you.”

“I have more game than anyone in this room.”

“Are you referring to the fact that you play sports, orー”

“You know I’m not,” Eleana says. “Don’t you have better things to do than bother us?”

“Never. I love you all,” Christophe declares. Ashe laughs at his honesty, something they are long used to, and even Eleana cracks a smile.

They all assist Ashe with preparing lunch in some way, the way they used to back when they all lived under the same roof. Lonato, Christophe tells them, is doing just fine. Caught up in his work with theatre again, as is prone to occur at some time or another. Eleana still can’t be trusted to hold a knife properly after the last time (there was too much blood involved in that incident for it not to leave a fresh mark in everyone’s minds) so she putters around the kitchen blasting music and complaining about her group project in one of her classes, despite the fact that she tells them that she’s a team playerー“But only for volleyball,” she’ll protest, and the three of them roll their eyes, all in good fun.

Lunch is rowdy with the food between the four of them squished onto the small, low table in the living room while Allen elbows Christophe in the side to grab the last portion of rice. They play a few riveting rounds of Mario Kart where Ashe falls off the screen enough times to lose count and Eleana and Allen enter a screaming match as they battle for second place. Christophe, as always, is unbeatable in video games. Ashe settles into twelfth place as naturally as he can, content to watch his siblings duke it out, because it really is the best form of entertainment.

When they tire of that they switch to watching movies, which they fight over, too, at first, until Ashe sweetly suggests a Studio Ghibli film. The others, grumble, then quiet, and settle down for _Ponyo_.

“Oh, to be a wizard with a giant, magical mermaid-queen-whatever as a wife,” Eleana laments. Allen giggles until Eleana tries to shove her foot in his face in retaliation.

Another movie later, Christophe checks his watch with a frown. “We should go,” he tells Ashe as the ending credits for _Whisper of the Heart_ roll, the younger siblings caught singing along to _Country Roads, Take Me Home_. Eleana yawns and stretches sideways, looking up at them with a sleepy smile as they stand.

They say their farewells at the door, hugs exchanged as Ashe reminds them to put the leftover food - because he always makes enough extra for his siblings to eat later - in the fridge. Then it is out the door for the two eldest siblings into a lukewarm night, warm enough that Ashe’s sweater will do for this weather. Spring is in full bloom.

He parts with Christophe at the train station with a hug that is both a squeeze and a reminder - _Call me if you need help with anything, alright?_ Ashe smiles into his shoulder, the sight of it releasing the tension in Christophe’s shoulders as he sighs with relief. He doesn’t say it, but he worries about them all the time, and it shows, but he’s never been one to hover.

“You’ll be fine,” Christophe says confidently, and Ashe nods, not sure if he’s talking to convince himself or Ashe. With one last squeeze on his shoulder they part ways, though Ashe knows he is just a phone call away - they all are.

Now, to return home.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


A little over three months since moving in, Ashe has gotten used to the strangeness of his new home. Yes, the doors open and slam at random times, and sometimes he thinks he hears the shower turn on with no water running. Occasionally when it’s late at night or early in the morning (depending on how you see it), Ashe will hear music when he’s in his bedroom, sounding like it’s playing just a room over, maybe in the living room. If he listens close enough, sometimes he hears the timbre of a hum, a voice singing lowly along with whatever song is playing.

He thinks of it as part of his apartment’s charm. And if it helps him to convince himself that he's safe enough to fall asleep at night? That’s only a bonus.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


Mornings, Ashe decides, are made for breakfast and breakfast foods. Maybe he should go for a morning run. He’s still musing over the possibility as he slides his last pancake from the pan onto his plate, turning to the kitchen table.

His hip checks something, and he stumbles. He manages to catch himself and the plate of pancakes (thankfully) on his way to the floor with a desperate lunge forward and an exhale of relief.

“Ow,” a voice mutters. Ashe turns.

There’s nothing there, but he can’t mistake the feeling of striking against something, the distinct sound of a voice.

Alarm bells go off in his head.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


**Ashe:** i think my house is haunted, who wants to sleep over tonight

 **Dedue:** Omw

 **Caspar:** lmao deadass?

  
  
  


**Caspar:** wait seriously??

  
  
  


**Caspar:** im coming over

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


“I’m here! I brought, um, salt. That’s how you exorcise ghosts, right?”

“I think that’s for demons,” Ashe tells Caspar gently, “but thank you,” because his sentiments were in the right place.

“Well, I’m sure it’ll be useful for something at some point!” Caspar says, leaving the small box of salt by his shoes as he walks with Ashe to the kitchen, where Dedue is already pilfering the cabinets. “Dedue, you’re here! Aw man, are you guys both cooking tonight? Ingrid’s gonna be hella jealous she couldn’t come.”

“You’re cleaning the plates,” Ashe says. Caspar grins and accepts this, moving to throw himself onto the couch and enthusiastically saying hi to Cheeto with a lot of talking and even more cuddling involved.

After dinner, filled mostly with Caspar praising the food, they set up to play Wii Tennis in the living room. There’s more than a little flailing about involved, with Caspar throwing his remote this way and that with all the reckless abandon of a man willing to lose everything to win. Dedue had at least convinced him to leave the strap on his wrist, though the remote threatens to bonk Ashe on the head more than once.

They switch to playing Smash Bros., Ashe choosing to sit this one out as Dedue and Caspar team up to fight against the CPUs. They still lose, because they’ve been set to the highest difficulty. Ashe doesn’t have time to rest with much he’s clutching his stomach in laughter or wincing sympathetically as Caspar’s character is once more thrown off-screen by a vindictive Kirby with a permanent smile.

Ashe falls asleep on Dedue and wakes with the ending credits of a movie he can’t remember playing. Dedue blinks down at him and fixes the blanket over them both. Caspar is on the other side of the couch snoring loudly, limbs spread akimbo, Cheeto lying on his exposed stomach.

Dedue switches off the television. The room descends into darkness. Ashe goes back to sleep, comforted by the presence of his friends.

Come morning and there is no ghost sighting, no supernatural visit to speak of at all.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


Felix disappears behind the swish of black for a customer while Ashe runs the front of the parlour. There’s the small hum of the coil machine starting up, the rough voice of Felix and the quieter voice of the customer faintly behind Ashe’s ears. Sitting behind the counter, he allows himself a moment’s rest, head on chin, eyes fluttering closed to take in the noises around him in careful darkness. The song playing overhead ends, the last of the notes trailing off. A new one doesn’t replace it, leaving Ashe to drink in the woozy silence, on the cusp of falling asleep. The welcoming rays of sunlight shine onto his face, warms him down to his bones as he inhales the scent of flowers, the rustling of footsteps approaching the counter.

“Excuse me,” a voice says. It’s watery, not in the way a voice sounds when it’s close to tears, but a quality to it that shimmers, like Ashe is listening through a recording. “Oh. I didn’t see you last month. Are you new here?”

The absurdity of the question has Ashe stifling a laugh before he lifts his head to open his eyes. Does he _work here?_ He owns the place. He opens his mouth to tell the customer that, but his mouth only falls open uselessly.

Flowers crowd the shop, fit to bursting. They line the room and hang from the ceiling, faces turned to the light streaming through large windows at the front, barely visible through the foliage. Colours overfill, plants tilt gently in their pots. Ashe makes out morning glories and carnations, roses and anemones. A watering can sits nearby on the counter.

In front of him, the customer tilts her head in question. “Are you okay?”

Ashe flinches and recoils in surprise, falling out of his stool and onto the ground.

Felix’s head peeks out from the screen, frowns at the sight of him on the ground. “What?”

Ashe looks around and finds himself in the tattoo parlour once more. Queen is playing overhead. The smell of flowers has dissipated.

“Fine, I think,” Ashe says with a careful smile. “I accidentally nodded off and fell off the stool.”

Felix looks at him a second more before he silently returns to his customer. Ashe eyes the ceiling, picks himself up to sit back on the stool.

The sunlight feels a little colder now.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


Time unravels itself in the early morning as Ashe occupies himself at the table, one hand clutching his toast, the other sketching out Cheeto, who’s lying on top of his cat tower like the king he is. The clock above the stove blinks 6:35am. The streets are quiet still, the sun barely waking.

In the silence he makes out a murmur of voices just out of reach, tinny and echoing. Ashe doesn’t know how to grab something that feels like a dream, but he closes his eyes and tries to focus on the voices, concentrating on the sound. The voices sharpen, imperceptibly, until it sounds like they’re in the same room as him.

 _“...could be a neighbour’s cat,”_ a woman says.

A sniffle. _“I doubt it,”_ another voice says, a man this time. _“It’s been happening for months now. I don’t know how the rascal has been getting in, but I’ve seen it. It always bolts from me, though.”_

The woman hums. _“Maybe you should buy some allergy medication. You look terrible.”_

 _“Thanks,”_ the man says dryly. _“It’s the cat allergies.”_

_“If you wanted compliments, you shouldn’t have called me here.”_

_“I’ll remember that the next time I plan on calling someone. Which is never.”_

The voices fade. Ashe tries to grab on, but it’s not like he can close his eyes harder to focus. The dream slips out of his grasp.

He opens his eyes to his kitchen table. Cheeto stares back without any intent, tail flicking.

Later that day, he can’t say what possesses him to do it. After work, he goes to the drugstore to purchase some over-the-counter antihistamine tablets. It’s not like he needs it; he’s not allergic to cats.

But he leaves it on the kitchen counter, both a reminder and an experiment of sorts, hoping for some kind of clue as to the strange dreams or visions he keeps having.

The pills are gone from the counter when he wakes the next morning, a blank answer to a question that was never asked out loud.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


It keeps happening in glimpses, brief flashes throughout the day; an extra pair of shoes at the front, an abandoned cup of cold coffee Marianne will tell him in a quiet voice isn’t hers. The scent of flowers wafts through the parlour at times. Ashe will sweep up leaves and dirt from the ground while Lysithea chides no one in particular at the dirt brought into the shop.

It’s frustrating, because Ashe feels like something is just out of reach for him, a shiny thing dangling right off the edge of a cliff.

But Ashe can wait; he’s patient. And if there’s one thing he knows from starting a business from the ground up, from improving his art and craft throughout the years, it’s that not everything happens in a snap, but through years of culminating experience that makes a tower of each brick settled on the foundation he’s made.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


Late Sunday afternoon has Ashe hanging up his laundry to dry. Cheeto bats at a hanging sock.

“As if you don’t have plenty of other toys to play with,” Ashe murmurs, and laughs when his cat only flicks his tail at him dismissively and returns to his distractions.

A breeze blows through the open window, lifting the curtain and rustling through clothes. Ashe hums along to the song playing from his phone, a bubbly pop song that’s easy to filter out as he smooths out the wrinkles on his shirt. He hangs it up, eyes dragging back to Cheeto, still on the ground. As he does, something snags in his vision on the way there; a silhouette, a hint of a dream.

A shadow on the wooden floor, reminiscent of a person standing to look out the window.

Ashe’s heart beats, loud over the music. The shadow is still, simply breathing, leaving him to wonder where it’s connected to. _Who_ it’s connected to. _This is it,_ his heart says. _Be careful,_ his mind whispers. What separates them is a set of hanging clothes, but it feels like the greatest chasm that keeps them divided.

With trepidation, he dares to move aside the clothing covering his vision, seeking to meet the one connected to the shadow.

There’s nothing on the other side.

The shadow is gone, a wisp of something other and then no more.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


The music is the first thing he hears, playing quietly nearby. He unsticks his cheek from where it had stuck to the table, having fallen asleep in the middle of a sketch. He rubs his eyes open with a yawn, slow to waking, and takes in the surreality that is waking up atーthe clock above the stove tells him it’s just past 2am. A quiet shifting noise has him turning slowly to his right.

There’s a man sitting there. He’s got purple hair and eyes, less the colour of twilight and more of a purple dawn, his hair pulled into a loose, effortless bun.

He blows on petal-pale pink nails and closes the nail polish bottle. Without looking up at Ashe, he says, “You might want to wipe some of that drool off your face while you’re awake.”

Ashe wipes around his mouth absentmindedly, still wrapping his mind around this new sighting. “Is thisーare youーa dream?”

The man meets his eyes with a smirk and a careful tilt upward of his chin. In that action alone, Ashe gets the feeling that he’s a bit cheeky, maybe daring. Definitely hiding something. “Do I seem like the kind of person who would only exist in a dream?”

“No. I don’t know. Maybe,” Ashe says, discreetly pinching himself. The pain doesn’t wake him, but it does confirm that this isn’t a dream, no matter how much it feels like one. “Youーwho are you?”

“I feel like I’m the one who has the right to asking questions, considering the fact that you somehow broke into my house.”

“I live here,” Ashe says, confused.

The man scoffs. “Right. And last month you definitely helped to pay rent.”

“No, I really do live here. I moved in back in March.”

The man narrows his eyes.

“I know you don’t trust me, but I’ll prove it if you want.” Ashe sticks out his hand and tries for a smile. “I’m Ashe Ubert.”

The man stares back for a bit, taking in Ashe’s face, the imprint of the table on his cheek. “Yuri.” He waves his hand in a flash, pointing to his still-drying nails when he leaves Ashe hanging.

“I guess since I volunteered, I should tell you about myself first.” Yuri says nothing, leaning back with his knee brought up on his chair, waiting for him to continue.

Ashe tells him about moving in, the odd dream sequences, shadows on walls without a body. Two 20-sided dice, which he offers to Yuri, who takes them with a quiet inquisitiveness, rolling them in his palm and sending them dancing along familiar fingers: the dice are his.

“It’s a little weird that you say you bought this place to start a tattoo parlour,” Yuri finally says when Ashe has run out of things to talk about that seem like it’ll matter to him.

“Why is that?”

“Because the only thing below this apartment is a flower shop I own.”

Ashe doesn’t give in at the look Yuri gives him, a taunt and a warning at once, because he thinks Ashe is lying.

“Maybe we’re both right,” he says, thoughts drifting to flower petals crushed underfoot by accident and an extra toothbrush in his cup.

Yuri tilts his head. “What makes you think that?” he asks, but there’s a knowing smile on his face, one that says he’s already reached his own conclusions, and now he’s waiting for Ashe to meet him at the endpoint.

But Ashe can only fall short and say, honestly, “I don’t know,” because he doesn’t. He doesn’t know what’s happening, only thatー “But this has happened before. At my high school, things like this used to happen. But I don’t know why this is happening now, here.”

Yuri sighs, leaning back on his chair. In this, Ashe finds a silent surrender to the situation, not so much as a white flag waving than a reveal of hidden layers. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

“Soーyou don’t know, either?”

Yuri shrugs. “All I know is that you exist, I exist, and most troublingly, your cat exists.”

“What’s wrong with my cat?” As Ashe says it, he realizes why Yuri’s voice seemed familiar. “You’re allergic.”

Yuri’s eyes narrow. “How do you know that?”

“You were talking about it,” Ashe says. “To that woman.” When Yuri says nothing, he adds, “I bought pills and left them on the counter.”

“They were on my counter when I got home.”

“Does that mean thisーwhatever this isーcan be controlled?”

“If it were controlled, would we be talking right now?”

He has a point. It can’t be that easy.

“And if it were controlled, I definitely wouldn’t have cat hair everywhere,” Yuri adds.

Ashe winces. “Sorry about that.”

“Hey, it’s your cat. This wouldn’t be as much of a problem if I wasn’t allergic.”

“Is there anything I can do to help? Other than returning Cheeto to the shelter.”

Yuri turns the nail polish bottle over in his hands, contemplating, eyes flicking from Ashe to Cheeto’s still form on his cat tower.

“Buy me more of those pills you bought the first time, and he can stay.”

“Deal.”

Time stretches uncomprehendingly between them. Ashe fiddles with the pencil he was sketching with, the end of the eraser rubbed raw and gray from overuse. Yuri observes him, a gleam in his eye; Ashe only looks back in curiosity and a defiance from his initial urge to shy away from his gaze.

“Do you think,” Ashe says, when Yuri says nothing and Ashe is trying to find words to this feeling that rises within him, unmoored at 2am, “that the reason this is happening to us is because of us?”

“What, like fate?”

“Do you believe in it?”

“Are you asking me if I believe in fate or if I believe in us eventually meeting, one way or another?”

“Both.”

Yuri laughs. “That’s a pretty loaded question considering we haven’t even gone on a first date yet, don’t you think?”

Ashe accidentally sends his pencil flying, the crash of it on the kitchen floor a bomb dropping in the room. “That’s not what Iー”

“Don’t worry about it.” Yuri leans on his palm, a small, teasing smile on his face. It falls away a moment later. The weight of his gaze makes Ashe uncomfortable.

“What is it?”

“You’re...” Yuri makes an attempt to swipe at him but his hands go right through, formless around the edges. “Well. This is a problem.”

“What should we do?” Ashe tries not to panic at the fact that Yuri’s voice is crackling again, as if heard through a recording instead of right in front of him. “You’re not hurting, are you?”

“No,” he says, “but it looks like our first meeting is ending early. What about that first date, huh? You’ll meet me again at 2am, won’t you?”

Ashe laughs, just a little hysterical; here he is in an impossible scenario that makes no sense, and this man doesn’t even seem worried.

“Sure,” he says, because he’s never been one to turn down the potential for adventure without much danger. “Why not?”

He doesn’t get to see Yuri’s reaction to this, because the man has already faded by the time Ashe looks again. His mind is already turning the memory over to a new leaf, trying to rewrite the impossible of what happened, but in the sudden quiet of the kitchen, Ashe knows that anything is possible.

The clock blinks its 2:44am.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


“Morning, sunshine.”

_“Why the fuck are you calling at 3am?”_

“Hapi, I only call at 3am.”

_“Untrue, but go on. I wanna sleep, so make it quick.”_

“This weird thing happened just now...”

  
  
  


* * *

  
  


It takes them longer to meet again than expected, though not from Ashe’s lack of trying. His schedule doesn’t change, but if he spends a little longer in the shop or a few minutes more in the kitchen, that’s for him to do and no one else to know.

Nothing changes.

There’s no man in the kitchen, or flower petals trailing the floor.

Untilー

Ashe steps back into the parlour. He had spent lunch with Dedue and Sylvain, which went about as well as any lunch can be expected with Sylvain - by the time Sylvain was done talking about his dating life, Ashe had lost his appetite, as sympathetic as he was to Sylvain's problems.

Except when he’s stepped back into the parlour it’s transformed into a flower shop, the bell above him ringing belatedly his entrance.

Heady with a sense of relief, Ashe trails a hand up the petal of a white lily, walking through the maze of flora. A shadow flashes from the yawning black beyond the counter, and he crosses the counter to the back room.

“Just a minute,” a figure says.

“It’s alright, I’m not a customer.”

Yuri spins around to face him. He doesn’t look surprised to see Ashe.

Ashe steps forward. “I was starting to think you were a figment of my imagination.”

Yuri’s smirk gleams in the darkness. “You thought it was possible to imagine someone like me?”

“Well, no,” Ashe says as Yuri marches past him, a potted plant in his arms, long yellow petals blooming upwards. “But something like that has only happened once before, and I didn’t think it would happen again.”

Yuri doesn’t turn to face him, leaving Ashe to follow him as he goes to place the pot on one of the tables. Yuri offers him a small smile. “Do tell.”

“Back in high school, I was going through one of the halls one afternoon after archery practice, and...”

No customers enter as Ashe tells him about the girl in the suit who mentioned a school festival. Throughout it, Yuri just maneuvers himself to sit on the stool behind the counter. The man walks with an eerie sort of silence. It’s learned, the way his footfalls make no sound. And to Ashe, it’s familiar.

(It’s like looking into a mirrorー)

Ashe leans on the counter, back facing the entrance to look at Yuri. when he’s done with his short retelling he says, “I think that’s it. What do you think?”

Yuri’s face is unreadable when he says, “What do I think? I think...that you’re a good storyteller. Do you read books often?”

It’s a deflection if Ashe has ever seen it, though he doesn’t know why Yuri would avoid answering. He cuts right to the point: “What are you hiding?”

Yuri leans on the counter, chin resting in hand. “I think the real question is, what _aren’t_ I hiding? Don’t you think everyone’s entitled to a little anonymity, bluebird?”

“Bluebird?”

“Yeah, bluebird.” Yuri waves his arm. “They’re small and harmless. Like you.”

“You think I’m harmless?”

“Aren’t you?” In the silence of Ashe’s blank face, Yuri leans towards him, a suggestion in his smile. “Unless, you’d like to prove otherwise?”

 _It’s a distraction,_ he thinks, even as Yuri slowly closes the distance between them. _Don’t fall for it._

So Ashe asks him another question, in the small, suffocating space of their faces centimetres apart: “What did you have to do to walk like that?”

Yuri stills, eyes narrowed, staring into Ashe’s own. “Like what?”

“Like you’re trying to be invisible.”

“Obviously, something that requires being invisible to succeed.”

“Did it work?” _Did you get very far?_

Yuri falls silent, blinking back at him. Ashe finds a small understanding in his face, the minute flicker of emotion that passes through his features, vague and real and just a little lost: _This person is like me._

Yuri draws away, eyes on the ground. Ashe exhales at the sight of it, relaxes at the distance put between them once more, and inhales the scent of flowers.

“To a point,” Yuri murmurs.

“But it wasn’t enough,” Ashe answers, “and one day, things went too far. Am I right in that?”

“You are.” Yuri looks at him, but there’s something about the way he appraises Ashe that’s changed, no longer just curious, but something cunning. It feels like Ashe has peeled back two layers only for another one to be layered on.

“Can I ask, whyー”

“What the fuck are you doing?”

Ashe cranes his neck to see Felix standing in the middle of the flower shop. He stands abruptly from where he was leaning on the counter, searching for an explanation.

“Uh, nothing. I was justー”

But when he looks back, Yuri is already gone without a farewell, whatever mysterious forces bringing them together splitting them apart again. Felix, as Ashe glances at him again, is standing in the tattoo parlour.

The scent of flowers fades quickly and doesn’t linger.

“ーI was distracted. How was lunch?”

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


_“This better be important, Yuri-bird.”_

“Oh, it is. You remember high school, don’t you?”

_“That hellhole? Sure. But don’t ask me to relieve any memories of it.”_

“Well, this phone call is about to get awkward.”

_“Ugh, fine. What is it.”_

“Do you remember when you told me about that time...”

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


Ashe hums along to the song. Like all his Sundays are spent, he hangs the laundry to air dry, fails in getting Cheeto to stop batting at the hanging clothes, and collapses at the kitchen table, reaching for his sketchbook, because even in his downtime he still wants to draw. His mind wanders as much as his pencil, lines connecting to form a familiar shape.

Yuri leans over his shoulder to peer down at the sketch, purple hair braided over a shoulder. “Nice work.”

The suddenness of his appearance doesn’t surprise Ashe. Unfazed, he turns in his chair to watch Yuri go for the fridge. It’s a different fridge from his own, with less sticky notes tacked on and a calendar nowhere to be found, but the inside is as well-stocked as his own.

“Are you here to steal my food?” Yuri asks, amused.

Ashe mirrors his smile and dares to ask, “How about that date? Are you free tonight?”

“You’re lucky I am. I’m a pretty wanted man. But what’s in it for me?”

“Well, we do have to deal with each other until we figure out what exactlyー” Ashe gestures between them “ーis going on here. And I want to get to know you. I was hoping we could be friends.”

“Friends, huh.” Yuri shakes his head.

“Is there something wrong with that?”

“Not unless you think there’s something wrong with that.”

Yuri starts preparing dinner while Ashe considers the ridiculousness of their situation. There has to be some kind of magic involved for this to be happening. The question was if the magic was malicious or kindーor neither of those, but neutral.

It’s like unravelling a mystery, and they’re caught in the thick of it. Ashe can’t deny that he’s always wanted something like this to happen to him - far-fetched adventures, quests that required groups to travel into the unknown. Except for him, the unknown was happening right in his house.

“We’re not exactly dressed for a date, are we?” Ashe laughs. Yuri pauses from the vegetables to turn to him. He’s right; they’re both dressed in their pyjamas, loose shirts paired with shorts.

“How about we dress for something proper for the second date?”

“You’re already thinking of a second one?”

Yuri shrugs. “Why not? You caught my attention last time, bluebird.”

“Oh.”

“Something wrong?”

It’s just... “No one’s ever told me something like that before.” At the piercing look Yuri gives him, Ashe shakes it off. There was never a reason for people to pay attention to him before; he’s always been good at hiding. “Did you need any help?”

“Thanks, but I’m good. You can just prepare the food for our second date.” He winks.

Yuri, Ashe thinks, is much too confident for his own good. And it _works_ for him, too, because Ashe is forced to look away to return to his sketch of Cheeto.

Yuri’s at ease in the kitchen. He seems to enjoy cooking, something that quickly becomes apparent at the pleased smile on his face as he prepares dinner. Ashe catches himself staring a few times too many, and Yuri catches him staring just as many times, though he only offers a lilting smile whenever Ashe looks away.

They’re still in Ashe’s apartment, but the appearance has changed. The hanging laundry is gone by the window and so is Cheeto’s cat tower, leaving him to lounge on a gray sofa in the living room. While Ashe knows that they can’t have possibly changed location, this definitely isn’t his apartment with how sparse and clean it is.

There’s not much talking Yuri’s done preparing dinner. Ashe says his thanks and inhales the food while Yuri occasionally looks up with a quirked brow.

“It was good,” Ashe sighs when his plate has been cleaned. “Really good. What recipe did you use?”

Yuri twirls a strand of hair that’s fallen out of his braid. “I can show you later.”

“Thank you. I’ll clean the plates.”

“Alright.”

As Ashe cleans, Yuri leans closer to him on the counter, tapping through his phone.

“I wanted to ask,” Yuri says, “if this person looked familiar at all?”

Ashe stops washing the dishes at the face that stares back at him. It’s a woman with dishevelled sunset hair, looking up at the camera with unfocused eyes, as if about to look away.

He almost drops the plate, but at the last second safely deposits it in the sink. “That’sーshe looks like the girl I saw. With the suit. Is that her? Do you know her?”

“Calm down, bluebird.” Yuri pockets his phone. “I wanted to prove something.”

“Prove what?”

“A theory.” He doesn’t elaborate. Ashe busies himself with the dishes. “I guess if there’s anything to take away from this, it’s that this doesn’t affect only us.”

“No. I mean, I knew that. Do you think it’s only happening so often because we spend so much time in the same place?” Ashe finishes cleaning the last of the plates and cutlery, setting them aside to dry. He takes off the rubber gloves to find Yuri lounging on one of the couches across from Cheeto. “I work and live here most of the time, and I only go out sometimes, like to the coffee shop next door.”

“Coffee shop?” Yuri repeats as Ashe takes a seat next to Cheeto, if only to make sure he doesn’t make a dash for Yuri. His cat doesn’t seem to have any malicious plans in mind, and stays curled up.

“The one next door.”

Yuri tilts his head. “There’s only a bar at the side.”

“What do you mean? The only bar is down the end of the street.”

“I think I’d know if there was a coffee shop next door, bluebird, considering I work there.”

“You work at the coffee shop? I’ve never seen you there.”

“No, the bar...” Yuri sighs. “Forget it.”

Ashe shakes his head ruefully. He’ll have to take a picture of Dedue’s coffee shop next time to show him.

“Do you want to...” Ashe gestures at the remote. “Watch anything?”

“Sure.”

They end up watching _The Great British Bake-Off_ , cackling at the reveals and overall enjoying the mishaps. Cheeto flicks his tail and leaves midway through an episode, and Ashe ends up slumped over a pillow, succumbing to sleep first.

When he wakes it’s to the quiet of his living room, the shadows of his hung laundry slanting in fallen darkness with a pillow that isn’t his clutched in his arms.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


“So this is your workspace, huh.”

Ashe spins around, almost sending the wastebasket flying. “Yuri!”

Yuri tilts his head in a familiar greeting across from him on the counter. “Aren’t you excited,” he says, a simple statement that immediately has Ashe on guard.

“Uhーwell. It’s been a week.” Ashe loosens his grip on the broom and returns to sweeping the floor. Only one week, he reminds himself. “How have you been?”

“A little tired, but everything’s steady. I was taking my break.” Yuri taps his pen on his wrist.

Ashe spots the empty paper before him, small, slanting writing at the top betraying its beginningーbut of what, he doesn’t know.

“Writing a letter?”

“To my mom.”

“That’s old school.” Not necessarily a bad thing, though.

“I think it’s sweet.”

“It is,” Ashe admits. “She must be pretty far out if you can’t visit her.”

Yuri tilts his head in silent concession. He dips his head down, returning to the letter. Seeing him ruminating, Ashe goes back to sweeping the rest of the parlour, the sound of music between them as Yuri looks around, eyes wandering around the parlour until it lands on Ashe again before bending down to write some more. Ashe only offers a small, tentative smile as Yuri folds up the paper, letter complete.

“Have you figured out anything aboutーthis?” Ashe gestures between them weakly. It’s a bit grand to say this is something that only happens to them, as proven by that girl in high schoolーwho Yuri knows, but still hasn’t told Ashe about that.

“No,” Yuri says casually, and Ashe understands that neither of them are in a particular hurry to unravel the mysteries of it. Other than Yuri’s allergies, there’s no real disadvantage to this situation - though, Ashe did accidentally end up living with a roommate. Kind of. “But while we’re on the subjectー” He pulls out his phone. Ashe edges closer to see the picture Yuri presents to him.

“No way.”

Yuri points. “Seeーflower shop, bar. Right next to each other.”

“Okay, wellー” Ashe pulls out his own phone to present his findings. “Tattoo parlour, coffee shop. Looks like we were both right.”

Yuri doesn’t even look properly disappointed at this, just smug before it melts away to a quiet curiosity. “But I still don’t understand how two different things can exist in the same place.”

Ashe, all too willing to let this go as long as there’s no danger, shrugs and says, “Magic.”

Yuri scoffs and stands up. “I’m gonna go eat. I’ll see youーwhenever, wherever.”

“Probably somewhere around here.”

Yuri laughs. “How about you follow through with that date, yeah?”

“I’ll try my best.”

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


“So how have things been going with that ghost of yours, Ashe?”

Ashe takes another sip of his milk tea, trying to figure out how he’s going to explain. He hasn’t exactly told his friends of the recent improvements in the ‘ghost-in-my-apartment-I-am-going-to-die’ scenario. But he’s also not dead yet, so it isn’t the worst progression of things.

“Do I have to beat them up?” Caspar asks when Ashe says nothing.

“Of course not! He’s very kind.”

Dedue regards him flatly. “You befriended the ghost.”

Ashe flushes. “He’s very nice. And...”

“...And?” Caspar says with a raised brow when the silence drags too long, waiting impatiently.

“And very...polite.” Dedue’s face twitches, so minute only Ashe catches it, because he’s always been best at catching the passing expressions on Dedue’s face. He hurries to say, “Let me, uh. Tell you about him.”

By the end of his explanations of Yuri - probably alive, at the very least, breathing Yuri - and the odd friendship they’ve fallen into - because there was never much choice in the first place when you’re occupying the same space most of the time -, Caspar only stares, slack-jawed, whereas Dedue looks moments away from pouring himself a shot at hearing how vulnerable Ashe has left himself to a stranger’s whims. And they don’t even have alcohol in the coffee shop.

“It’sーhe’sーsafe,” Ashe says weakly.

“It’s kinda stupid to trust a stranger, though, don’t ya think?”

“If he wanted to kill me, he would have already.” Ashe turns to Dedue, who still looks unconvinced. “I promise if he does anything suspicious, I’ll tell you. I know this is strange! But he’s not bad. I would know that.”

At the look on Ashe’s face, Caspar sighs. The only sign of Dedue giving in to this is when he says, “You trust too easily, Ashe.”

It’s a testament to how often this comes up as a conversation topic for Ashe to shoot back, naturally, “I’ve never been proven wrong yet, have I?”

Dedue’s called away by a customer. In the silence that follow, Caspar pipes up, “He’s at least cool, though, right? Would I win in a fight?”

Ashe tilts his head as he evaluates Caspar. He thinks of the gleam in Yuri’s eyes, disguised as a sweet songbird, the ease of which he handled a knife.

He pats Caspar on the head. “Maybe next time.”

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


By the window, Ashe soaks in the early morning light. They’re on the turning point to summer, of warm nights and cool drinks and the days that lengthen like twisting backroads. He finds peace in inhaling the scent of flowers and the golden sunshine.

“Looks like the flowers are gonna be getting plenty of sunlight these days.”

At the familiar voice, Ashe turns with a smile to see Yuri emerge from the backroom, a watering can in hand.

“Good morning,” Ashe says, “it feels like today will be a good day.”

“What makes you say that?”

Because the sun’s out, so it feels like no matter what, everything will turn out fineーbetter than fine. Because his siblings are all alive and wellーas well as anyone can be when suffering in college.

“I don’t know,” Ashe says. “Maybe it’s because I finally get to see you again?”

Yuri laughs at this, a surprised sound that has Ashe giggling at his own words. He watches Yuri flit about the plants, watering a few at a time with careful hands.

“Do you have a favourite flower?” Ashe asks.

Yuri hums, not turning when Ashe approaches him. “Not really. I decided to start a flower shop on a whim. Do you?”

“I do. It’s...” Ashe spins around, taking in colours, shapes, and sizes, before he finds what he’s looking for. He tugs at Yuri’s rolled-up sleeve. “Over there.”

On the other side of the shop is a small, potted plant with multiple, bell-shaped purple flowers hiding behind heart-shaped leaves. Yuri waters them as he says, “Can I ask _why_ your favourite are violets?”

“Of course. I think they’re really cute, but there’s also a lot of stories about this flower created by people. For example, there’s a legend that says the violet is a child born from earth and sky, and because of that it’s considered to be a symbol of balance and harmony, the mediator in between. In a way, that makes the violet a symbol of liminal spaces.”

“Of what?”

“Those spaces in between, constantly in transition. I have a friend who calls them ‘neither-nor’...‘neither here nor there’. I think liminal spaces are pretty magical, don’t you think?”

Except when he looks back at him, Yuri’s staring back at him in total surprise. It’s a new look on him, and it leaves Ashe bewildered and thrown off.

“What?”

“I think,” Yuri says, “you might have just sparked an idea, bluebird.”

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


_“Yuri-bird, the next time you need my help for something you’re gonna need to knock on my front door yourself.”_

“But Shady Lady will surely be there.”

_“She’s my girlfriend, deal with it. Now, this better be the last time. What. Do you want.”_

“What do you know about liminal spaces?”

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


Ashe is sketching again late at night, more intent on watching a show about eight people connected to each other around the world than he is in the art when he hears the door jiggle open. He rises in alarm, but at the voice announcing himself, sinks back down as Yuri eventually emerges to collapse beside him on the kitchen table, loosening the tie around his neck and lifting long legs to drape across another empty seat.

“Long night?” Ashe says, disoriented at the sight of him so soonーthey had just spoken that morning. There’s no rhyme or reason to this, but it feels too good to be true.

Yuri’s laugh is more of a sigh as he tilts his head back to face the ceiling, fatigue obvious in the lines of his body. “Let’s call it that.”

Ashe waits for him to say more, but when he doesn’t, probes gently, “Do you usually work this late?”

“I could ask you the same.” Yuri looks at the sketchbook and laptop in front of Ashe. “Is this how you always spend your Thursday nights?”

He shrugs. “If I feel like drawing, I will.”

Yuri hums, deciding not to harp on Ashe for the times he chooses to be active, which Ashe is grateful for, because he has plenty of other friends for that.

“Anyway, I think I finally figured out what’s going on.” Yuri gestures between them in the familiar way Ashe has done to describe their situation because he’s never sure what’s going on.

“You did?”

“Actually, you were the one who mentioned it.”

“I _did_?”

Yuri laughs. “Give yourself more credit, bluebird. Now, how do you feel about liminal spaces?”

That’s easyーAshe is fascinated by them. The mesh with magic and reality is always interesting to think about, and it reminds him a little of Percy Jackson, how important landmarks in New York like the Empire State Building could mesh with the world of halfbloods and monsters and gods. Humans like to make magic of the ordinary, and there’s always something _other_ with some places; an empty train station, gas stations located in the middle of nowhere, ruined churches.

The kitchen at 2am.

Ashe has never put liminal spaces in context of his own life until now.

“That would make sense,” he admits. “So what you’re saying is that we’re connecting in a liminal space somehow?”

Yuri shrugs. He seems accepting of this concept. Granted, Ashe can’t tell what else it could be, though anything else seems more outlandish than _liminal spaces_. “It could be.”

“But connecting us how? To where?”

“Have you ever considered alternate dimensions?”

Ashe thinks on the implications of this; a world where a tattoo parlour is a flower shop, and the only shop next door isn’t a coffee shop but a bar. Where high school uniforms have red ties instead of blue, and school festivals are held on different days, but all things important remain the same.

“So you’re from...a different world,” Ashe says, mystified. “Similar to ours, but not quite.”

“From what I’ve seen of your world and what you’ve seen of mine, that makes the most sense.”

“Of course. But...there’s still one thing that’s bothering me.”

“What is it?”

“If liminal spaces really are gateways to another world, how come _we’re_ the ones experiencing this the most? I don’t have any other friends who tell me about things like this.”

“I’m as lost as you are.”

They’re still missing something from this mystery. Ashe taps his pencil lightly on his notebook, eyes straying to the scene paused on his laptop. He’s going to need to make a call.

“But with that figured out, that reminds me...” Yuri leaves the table to return with a familiar book that has him receiving an automatic, eager smile from Ashe.

“My book! I thought I had lost it.” Just to be sure, he opens the book to see the note to him signed by the author, and trails a hand down its familiar spine, home once more. “Thank you.”

Yuri nods with a charming smile and settles down beside him, bringing his chair closer to reach Ashe’s laptop. It’s established by now that neither of them know where to go from there, so Yuri presses play and Ashe picks up his pencil once more, book set aside. Yuri seems content to watch _Sense8_ while Ashe not-so-discreetly steals glances of Yuri (it’s not-so-discreet because Yuri spots him halfway while he’s looking up and only offers a smug smile that Ashe avoids looking at point-blank).

Ashe thinks Yuri might be the type of person to appreciate the silence. People like them, it’s always been easier to hide in darkness.

The light from the screen illuminates Yuri’s tired face as he yawns.

Which is why Ashe doesn’t wonder when Yuri bows himself out for the night. It’s already fairly late by this time, pitch black outside and past midnight. Ashe does some stretches and resumes sketching, immersed in his work.

The next time he wakes it is morning. He finds himself still at the kitchen table, laptop carefully shut, a blanket over his shoulders that he doesn’t remember having with him the night before, along with a lukewarm cup of what should’ve been hot chocolate.

His phone lights up with a message received from the last person he left a voicemail for.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


It takes a week for him to arrive. Throughout it all, Ashe sees Yuri much more often. Maybe it’s because they have an inkling to what’s happeningーAshe doesn’t think about it too hard.

But while he’s able to talk with Yuri more often, there’s a much greater potential for awkward situations. Sometimes he walks out of the shower into Yuri’s washroom and has to grab a towel hastily before the man himself finds him. He’s able to confirm that the warmth he sometimes feels pressing against his back in bed is Yuri when he turns over one night to see the outline of the man, asleep.

(It’s a given that he falls out of bed and wakes the man with his scrambling. It is not Ashe’s best moment, but he’s not sure there’s a feasible reaction to finding another person in your bedーor, waking up in a different bedroom entirely.

Liminal spaces are confusing.)

By the end of the week, the pair has settled into a sort of routine. Ashe gets used to announcing himself when he opens the door - it’s a welcome change to his usual silence that’s always felt offputting ever since he stopped living with family. Yuri also takes it in stride, letting Ashe name some of the flowers and introducing him to some podcasts when he admits that he prefers audiobooks and the like to reading. Clothes are lost and returned within the day, nights are spent huddled over Ashe’s laptop on the kitchen table with only one light hanging above them, and more medication is bought for Yuri’s unfortunate cat allergy. Overall, it’s not a bad arrangement they’ve found themselves in.

The man of the hour staggers through Ashe’s door, crashes into the couches, and spends the first five minutes cuddling with Cheeto.

Ashe, knowing this is his usual behaviour, asks, “Tea?” without batting an eye.

“Always,” he grumbles into the couch. “Do you have any sweets?”

“Of course.” Ashe putters around the kitchen, opening a cupboard to fetch a mug. “I knew you were coming, so I bought some beforehand.”

“You,” Linhardt sighs, “Are a saint, especially this early in the morning.”

“Thank you.”

Once Linhardt’s sitting up, had some tea and finished inhaling some pastries, he asks, “So, what am I here for? You called asking for a favour?”

At that moment Yuri chooses to emerge, bedroom door swinging open. Linhardt looks up, but Ashe is more distracted by the delightful nest of purple hair that is Yuri’s bedhead along with his rumpled clothes.

Yuri’s the first to seize the opportunity to speak: “I didn’t know we would have a visitor this early in the morning.”

“Sorry,” Ashe says sheepishly, failing to rip his gaze from Yuri’s face. “I thought you would be gone by the time he came.”

Linhardt eyes Yuri, from loose gray shorts to pale lilac shirt to dishevelled hair. “Caspar never told me of...this development.”

 _That_ gets Ashe’s attention enough to turn away from Yuri to stutter out, “Uhー”

“Oh, I’m a recent development. It’s an on-and-off thing,” Yuri says, a familiar sly grin on his face that makes Ashe want to either run in embarrassment or sigh in exasperation. “Bluebird here’s a little shy, so we keep it to ourselves.”

Linhardt gives Ashe a critical eye, like he’s reanalyzing and changing his previous thoughts on him. “I didn’t expect you to be the kind of person who would have aーis this a friends-with-benefits situation? That’s what I’ve been getting so far.”

“We’re notー” Ashe puts his head in his hands when Yuri starts laughing at them, arms curled over his stomach. He composes himself enough to ignore the burning of his face to say, “Linhardt, this is Yuri. We wanted to ask you about liminal spaces.”

“Liminal spaces?” Linhardt echoes, no doubt trying to connect the dots between the ‘we’ and ‘liminal spaces’.

Yuri makes sense of it faster. “Could this be the friend you mentioned?” Yuri snaps his fingers. “The ‘neither-nor’?”

“He is.”

“Oh. I see now.” Yuri looks at Linhardt again, longer than the first cursory glance. “I’m going to eat breakfast.”

Still a little flustered, Ashe manages to tell Linhardt about their situation. Linhardt pets Cheeto, who’s draped across his lap, throughout the whole ordeal, eyes widening bit by bit until he looks between Ashe and Yuri finally and says, “Well, that’s certainly not what I expected you to need help in when you called me, but I’m glad you decided to call me.”

Ashe exhales a relieved sigh. “So you can help us?”

“What? Oh, no.” Linhardt laughs, which worries Ashe, both at how ominous it sounds and how Linhardt’s laughter is no normal occurrence most mornings. “I mean, I’m glad you decided to call me so I can experiment.”

It is then Ashe remembers that Linhardt is the same boy who would break into a library if it meant access to illegal archives, and came very close once - according to Caspar - to desecrating a tombstone until his friends convinced him not to.

“Aren’t you curious of how intertwined our universes are?” Linhardt says, tugging Ashe towards the kitchen without protest where Yuri’s eating a bowl of cereal. “Haven’t you ever asked yourself - or each other - just how far the differences run?”

Yuri and Ashe exchange a glance.

“We just never got around to it, with how busy we are. It kind of seemed unnecessary,” Ashe says.

“Oh, I’ll show you unnecessary,” Linhardt mutters threateningly. He pulls out a pen and notebook. Yuri holds up a hand.

“As much as I’d love to answer any questions you have, I do have to go to work.”

“That’s fine,” Linhardt says. He has a strange gleam in his eyes Ashe has never seen before. “I’ll be here all day. To start, I’ll interview Ashe.”

So it turns out Ashe is the first victim. He shoots Yuri a look as he’s going out the door. Yuri only smirks and salutes a farewell before leaving him to Linhardt’s whims. Traitor. Ashe supposes he brought this upon himself by calling Linhardt.

Answering Linhardt’s questions isーtiring. Ashe tries to answer as best as he can, but is it really his fault if he can’t remember how to find the parabola or what novel they studied in English in his second year? He never was a model student with his grades, but he certainly tried his best.

“You and Yuri, then,” Linhardt says, when they’ve exhausted all questions. “You’re not fucking?”

“Youーcouldn’t word it differently?” Ashe laughs awkwardly and clears his throat. “No. We’re not.”

Linhardt’s eyes are strangely serious for a man dangling upside down on Ashe’s couch. “But would you, if he offered?"

“Uh,” Ashe says eloquently.

With all their forced interactions via _liminal space_ , it’s granted that the two would get to know each other in some kind of familiarity. Eventual closeness by learning each other’s comfort food, watching movies together, listening to podcasts together.

But Ashe doesn’t think that’s all he’s feeling. There’s no explanation for the funny little jolt his heart gives when Yuri smiles his way, or how the nickname _bluebird_ has never sounded so sweet no matter how teasingly Yuri uses it.

Ashe smiles all careful and concealed, but Linhardt sees right through him with bored eyes.

“Whatever,” he sighs, “you have fun with that.”

Ashe’s laugh comes out all stilted and breathless before Linhardt changes the subject.

When Yuri arrives, the two are arguing about something entirely different.

“It should be possible, theoretically.”

“Maybe, but you’re only looking at the logical side of things,” Ashe says. “There’s more to it than logic and percentage. It’s about the spirituality of it, too, especially to the character.”

“What is this about?” Yuri says, amused.

“We’re arguing on whether it’s possible to glassbend in _Avatar_ ,” Linhardt says. “What do you think?”

Yuri shrugs. “I’ve never seen it.”

“Never seen _Avatar_?”

“The movie with those blue people?”

“No, _Avatar: The Last Airbender_.”

Yuri blinks back at them. It occurs to Ashe that people can have vastly different childhoods, ones not including _Avatar_ , of all things.

“We can watch it right now,” Ashe suggests, but Linhardt holds up his pen, excitement returned.

“Not before I ask him these questions.” Linhardt writes something barely legible in his notes.

“You might want to settle in,” Ashe says apologetically as Yuri moves to sit across from them on the couch. “There’s a lot.”

Yuri raises a brow. “Is it as much as I think it is?”

“A little more than that.”

Night falls as the two talk. Ashe brings it upon himself to prepare dinner and feed Cheeto. Linhardt and Yuri are still deep in discussion at the kitchen table, but they’ve strayed from the questions Linhardt’s asked Ashe, talking about things he never mentioned in his own answers.

“So our universes are similar enough for you to have Vine at the same time.”

“We had it until a few years ago,” Yuri says.

“So you’d know the ones like, ‘So I was sitting there, barbecue sauce on my titties’.” Ashe doesn’t know how Linhardt can say that with a straight face.

“That’s...not how it went.” Yuri tilts his head. “It wasn’t barbecue sauce but caesar salad dressing.”

“You’re joking.”

“I think I’ve watched enough vine compilations at 3am to have most of them memorized.”

“How about ‘Bethany, I made biscuits’?”

“Similar, but instead of biscuits it’s cookies.”

Linhardt hums. “That doesn’t sound right.”

“Neither do yours, but that’s because we’re from two different universes.”

The conversation goes from Vines to memes as Yuri takes up the chore of cleaning the dishes. Afterwards, they gather in the living room, Yuri picking up the remote to choose a show to watch.

“Is this what you do every night?” Linhardt asks.

“If we can still see each other, yeah,” Ashe says, taking out his sketchbook. Linhardt settles on the couch. “Have you figured anything out from your questions?”

“Not really. Though it is strange how similar our universes are and where the differences can be found, I don’t think it has any answers as to why this is happening so often. I was just wondering...”

“Yes?”

“What about the previous owners? If it happens more often here, could it have something to do with them?”

Yuri frowns. “The previous owner was a friend of mine, and I doubt he had anything to do with this, but I’ll ask him later.”

“What about you, Ashe?”

“The previous owner passed away,” Ashe says. “But I’ll be sure to check the paperwork one more time in case I missed anything.”

“Alright. Since there’s no harm being done I think you’re both safe, liminal spaces aside.”

They end up continuing where they left off with _The Great British Bake-Off_. Linhardt falls asleep five minutes in, as he’s prone to do with anything he’s uninterested in. Ashe practices sketching out bodies, trying to make movement more fluid in the lines. He’s the last to fall asleep, if only because he’s kept himself so busy.

When he wakes up Linhardt is still there, but Yuri’s gone like he was never there in the first place, and Ashe feels a pang of loss.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


In the golden afternoon sun, Ashe tries to convey the texture of the bunch of violets on paper, deep purple hidden coyly behind green leaves. The flowers sprout upwards, growing toward the sun that seeps into Ashe’s skin, filling him with warmth.

When the bell above the door rings the exit of a customer and a shadow slinks over him, he doesn’t need to look up to know who it is, but he does anyway. Yuri narrows his eyes intently, glancing between the flowers and his sketch, and smiles. He looks relaxed, surrounded by the flora, reaching over to sit a slouching lily upright with a finger. There’s an untouched streak of dirt close to his nose, beneath his eye that he hasn't noticed yet.

“You don’t seem like the kind of person who’s lived that sort of life,” he says without looking away from the flower, but Ashe knows what he means.

“Why’s that?”

He’s expecting Yuri to tell him he looks too innocent or naive. Maybe he seems naive, for believing in the good of people despite everything that’s happened to him, but he’s stopped caring about how other people see him. He had to, to start a career in tattooing.

But Yuri only says, “You look...loud,” for Ashe to understand what he means.

Ashe smiles, putting his sketchbook in his lap and extending his arms in a silent offer. This time, Yuri looks at him carefully for a moment. With fingers warmed by sunlight, he trails a hand up the tail of a dragon with shimmering scales from the pulse-point of his wrist up until the where the head rests on his bicep.

Next he moves to the tattoo sleeve on Ashe’s right arm - the rippling scales of blue betta fish swimming around the swaying heads of white lilies.

“People like usーwe’re not supposed to stand out,” Ashe says. A thief is supposed to be as discreet as a shadow, unnoticed until after the crime has occured, and only by the loss of belongings, or not at all. Tattoos are the opposite of that in that they draw attention to the person easily.

“What changed?” Yuri traces the shape of a lily between the bend of his arm, and Ashe shivers.

“I got tired of being invisible.”

Yuri taps the tattoo. “You’re not scared of the repercussions?”

“Should I be?” Ashe says. He knows what it means to be walking around with tattoos bared to the world. Even in this day and age, Japan still has a certain stigma associated with tattoos and the yakuza. He knows it means he’s banned from some public spaces, and that he’ll be judged in whatever capacity as long as he’s walking down the street with his tattoos showing. “There are worse things in life. Besides,” he adds in the silence of Yuri tracing his tattoos in a relaxing, rhythmic pattern that makes his eyes close in comfort, “It’s not like I go to the onsen that much, either.”

Yuri huffs a soft laugh. “Or the beach?”

“Or the beach,” Ashe agrees. He doesn’t go out much unless it’s to see his friends or family, baring the occasional morning run and weekly groceries.

He tells Yuri about the story behind his tattoos. Christophe’s favourite movie from his childhood was _Spirited Away_. Eleana likes blue betta fish, and back at Lonato’s house the ones she raised are still there. Allen’s favourite flower is white lily.

“Do all tattoos need a reason to be tattooed?”

“No,” Ashe admits. “I just thought it would be nice if I could have something to remember them by, when I can’t see them. A tattoo doesn’t need any significance to be made. But a lot of thought has to go into whether a person wants a tattoo or not, because you don’t want to regret it after it’s already been finished.” Especially with how expensive some tattoos can be.

“That’s good to know,” Yuri says, no longer looking at his tattoos but up at him with a curious look in his eyes. Ashe gulps at the focus Yuri has but doesn’t look away. He almost reaches forward, fingers uncurling, to wipe at the dirt on his face, but snatches his hand away.

Yuri notices the movement anyway with a critical eye, glances all-knowing. Ashe avoids his gaze, splintering apart at how obvious he was with something so small.

Yuri’s hand twitch on his arm. He looks down at Ashe’s sketchbook, and Ashe follows his gaze to the unfinished sketch. Yuri’s eyes flash with the dullness of an idea brought to life.

The bell rings, interrupting whatever Yuri was planning to say. He flashes a regretful smile, but Ashe only shakes his head and waves him off. It’s his working hours, so it’s expected that there would be customers.

Ashe doesn’t ask as Yuri drops his arm to move away and welcome the customer. He returns to his sketch, feeling strangely cold.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


Two weeks after that has Yuri leaning forward to Ashe on the kitchen table, that same gleam in his eyes that makes Ashe feel poised, ready to spring.

“I want a tattoo,” Yuri says. “I’ve thought about it, and I want one. There’s nothing you can do to convince me not to get one.”

“Alright,” Ashe acquiesces, because it’s clear he’s put some thought into this, and the thought of Yuri getting his own tattoo - his _first_ tattoo - has Ashe excited as well. “What are you planning on getting? Have you decided yet?”

“I have.” And then, for some reason, Yuri opens his hand, gesturing towards Ashe’s sketchbook. Confused, he pauses in his current sketch of Cheeto to hand over his sketchbook.

Yuri flips through the pages backward until he finds what he’s looking for. He presents it to Ashe. “I want something like this.”

“Oh,” Ashe says. The potted violets from that day stare back at him. “Well, you can talk with your tattoo artist about how you want the violets to look, but you won’t be able to copy the sketch directly since I drew it.”

“That’s alright.” Yuri smiles. “I want you to be my tattoo artist.”

“Me?”

“Yes, bluebird. I’m commissioning you.”

“Oh,” Ashe says, pleased and a little bashful. He assumed Yuri would hire a different tattoo artist. “I would be glad to! But I’m not sure if we’ll have enough time.”

“Because of how unpredictable the liminal space is?” Ashe nods. “I was thinking if we both managed to meet on Sunday we could start then.”

“Sunday?”

“It’s the longest we managed to be in the same space. Do you remember?”

Laundry day. Of course Ashe remembers.

From there, it’s discussing the tattoo Yuri wants. Where it’ll be on the body, how large he wants it. When he mentions wanting it fully coloured, Ashe decides on splitting the completion of the tattoo between three sessions - one for lining, one for shading, and the final one for colouring in the tattoo. Each session will be interspaced at least two weeks between each other, to give the skin time to heal and recover. It won’t be like a full sleeve, but tattoos this intricate will take time. Luckily that’s Ashe’s specialty. Ashe gets to sketching an idea of what the tattoo will look like that night while Yuri looks on fondly, stirring a cup of hot chocolate that they end up sharing.

It’s incredibly domestic. Ashe couldn’t want for anything else.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


His sketchbook is yanked out of his hands.

“Hey,” Ashe protests, quieting at the glare his sister gives him.

She sweeps a hand over the rest of them, playing video games. “Do we look like we’re working to you?”

“I wasn’t working,” he says, then pauses. A pang of guilt hits him; this is the only time he gets to visit his siblings, and he’s spent it so far distracted. “Okay, I was. But I was almost done! Please?”

“What has you in such a hurry?” Eleana shakes her head, in that moment looking more like the eldest sibling rather than the youngest sibling she is - _only by a few minutes,_ she’ll always insist. She peers at Ashe’s sketch and brightens. “Oh, this is good. Is this supposed to be a tattoo?”

“Lemme see!” Christophe noses his way in. Feeling left out, Allen pauses the game to lean forward from beside Ashe over to his other siblings.

“It’s pretty,” Allen says, and Ashe flushes. No matter what, it seems compliments will always leave him flustered.

“Thanks. My friend wanted a tattoo, and he decided he wanted me to be the tattoo artist.”

“Of course he would want you to be the tattoo artist,” Eleana retorts. “You’re the best.”

Christophe hums, scratching his chin. “Which friend, though?”

“You haven’t met him.”

“Is he nice?” Allen asks.

“He’s...” Ashe rubs his arm, the phantom warmth of Yuri’s hands leaving bursts of starlight trailing after his fingertips. _Nice_ cannot begin to describe Yuri, cannot possibly fit the enigma of a man he is, so he settles for, “He’s similar to me. We get along. And I trust him.”

Eleana and Allen exchange a glance, no doubt in mind on what the ‘similarities’ can possibly be. Christophe tilts his head in confusion, but they all heard the final part, so he reaches over to slap Ashe over the shoulder.

“He must be a pretty nice guy, then!”

They trust Ashe; if he says he trusts Yuri, they’ll believe him.

“Good taste in tattoos,” Allen nods approvingly. Ashe grins. He’s not about to tell them Yuri got the idea from Ashe’s sketch. Eleana huffs, closing the sketchbook but reluctantly returning it to Ashe.

“As long as you’re not giving him the tattoo for free.”

“I’m not,” Ashe says. He tucks the sketchbook away; now isn’t the time.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


Ashe pauses. The expanse of skin rests before him, lines ready to be traced. Ashe brushes off a strand of purple hair and lets it fall to dangle to the floor.

Yuri tilts his head towards him and lifts a brow. “What are you waiting for?”

“I just need to checkーyou’re _sure_ you want this,” Ashe stresses. He doesn’t want Yuri to regret this. Especially when the tattoo’s being placed on such an obvious place on the body that it’ll be difficult to hide.

“You’ve already got your gloves on and your hands on me, you might as well.” Yuri rolls his eyes. “ _Yes_ , this is what I want. If I didn’t want this I would’ve stopped you in the tattoo designing phase.”

Yuri looks ready for this. His gaze as he stares up at Ashe is steadfast, accepting of anything. It’s Ashe who’s more scared for Yuri than Yuri is for himself.

He knows Yuri works multiple jobs. With the placement of the tattoo so difficult to hide, he has to hope Yuri won’t be fired from any of them.

Ashe breathes in. Steadies his hand. Leans over.

“Alright,” he says soothingly, turning Yuri’s chin away. “I’ll get this done as fast as I can.”

“Just make sure it looks as good as I do, yeah?” Yuri says. Ashe smiles.

He starts up the coil machine, and session one begins.

Yuri doesn’t look like he’s in much pain throughout as Ashe carefully traces over lines inlaid by the stencil of the temporary tattoo that Ashe adjusted to fit on Yuri’s body, but halfway through Ashe leans back a little in his chair to catch his breath, and finds Yuri’s grip on the chair knuckle-white.

“Relax,” Ashe murmurs. Yuri exhales a quiet snort, an _easier said than done_ , leaving Ashe to press a gloved hand over his hand. “I’m not going to hurt you, but if you’re too tense something might happen.”

He waits for Yuri’s hand to uncurl under his, fingers splayed out, before resuming once more, the familiar buzz of the machine lulling him into focus. There’s only the map splayed across Yuri’s skin in ink, waiting to be finalized.

It could be hours or days when Ashe finally lifts himself away, wiping off the last of excess blood. He orders Yuri to sit still while going into aftercare and his instructions - leaving the initial cling wrap Ashe tapes on for at least an hour, to wash the outlined tattoo with warm, soapy water, no swimming or sunbathing for two weeks, etc.

“And finally, how was it?” Ashe asks as he helps Yuri sit up. Yuri winces a little, concentrating on keeping his head still.

“Nothing I couldn’t manage,” Yuri says. Ashe sheds his gloves.

“That’s good! The next two sessions should be a breeze, then,” Ashe says cheerily, glancing at Yuri again.

Yuri sighs, shoulders slumping. “Alright, bluebird, it hurt a little more than I expected.”

“And that’s okay,” Ashe agrees. “You don’t have to deny it if you’re in pain.” He’ll have to be more careful next time.

Yuri shoves his shirt on over his head, pulling his hair out. “Did you at least enjoy seeing me in pain?”

“Slight pain,” Ashe corrects, “and no. It makes it harder to work if you’re tense.”

Yuri tilts his head up. “What if I was in pain outside of work?”

Ashe frowns. “If you were injured, I would call the hospital.” Theoretically. He’s not sure how that’ll work out with liminal spaces.

“I mean,” Yuri bats his eyelashes. “If we were somewhere else. Say, a bed. And maybe there were handcuffs involved. Would you enjoy it?”

Ashe, exhausted as he is, actually has half a tired mind to retort with, _why don’t we go there and we can see?_ But as it is, in his workspace, he can hardly bring himself to respond more than a pained blink and ignore the heat his skin has become.

Yuri laughs, which only serves for Ashe to acknowledge the burning of his ears. “I was beginning to think you were impossible to fluster, bluebird.”

“I’m not,” Ashe says, looking away to begin cleaning up his materials. “I guess I’m just used to hearing it a lot.” Dealing with Sylvain over the years surely has its perksーif they could be called that.

“I’ll believe you on that one. You’re certainly _pretty_ ,” Yuri mutters.

“I’mーwhat?”

“You can’t have misheard. I said you were beautiful.”

“You didn’tー” There’s a buzz in Ashe’s head. “You didn’t say that the first time.”

“So you were listening?” He can hear the grin in Yuri’s voice. “What, did you just want to hear me say it again?”

“NoーI justー” He stops. No one’s called him anything like that before.

Yuri seems to feel the change in the air, because his tone softens into something less teasing. “I can say it again. I’ll say it as many times as you want. You, bluebird, areー”

Silence.

Ashe sucks in air. He turns around, but there’s no one there.

Liminal spaces can be fickle things. They can last as long as a second to hours. It’s a coin toss every time, but it appears today they’ve run out of time.

At least he managed to tell Yuri how to manage his tattoo. He’ll have to see it again in two weeks’ time, if everything goes as planned.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


Ashe, engrossed as he is in the podcast being played from Yuri’s phone, still notices when Yuri swipes his drink from the counter as he walks past. He circles around to meet Ashe on the other side of the counter, taking a leisurely sip. He pulls it away to pull a face and look at the tapioca at the bottom.

“What is this?”

“Honey bubble tea,” Ashe replies. He had gone next door for lunch, and was able to catch up with Dedue and Annette.

“No wonder it tastes so sweet,” Yuri says. “It’s not really my thing.” And then he takes another sip of Ashe’s drink to contradict that.

“Well, I like it just fine.” Ashe takes the drink back. Yuri snags his wrist easily and pulls it towards him, drink still held in Ashe’s hand, his hold on Ashe’s wrist gentle but unyielding.

“One more,” he promises with a teasing smile, taking one long sip, finger over Ashe’s thudding pulse as Ashe stares. Even when Yuri releases him, Ashe stays frozen.

Yuri licks his lips. Ashe jerks to life, realizing that his zoning out had him miss an entire section of the podcast. Yuri turns away with a laugh to travel further down the flower shop.

Ashe grumbles as he grabs Yuri’s phone to reset where he last remembered anything. Yet as he does, he can’t help but wonder if Yuri’s lips would taste as sweet as the honey bubble tea.

Absentmindedly he takes a sip of the drink, his eyes finding Yuri’s figure from across the shop.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


“Come on, just one bite,” Lysithea begs. She has a fork with a piece of cake on it, poking at Felix’s cheek. “It’s for research.”

“I don’t like cake,” Felix insists. Ashe can tell he’s losing it by the vein throbbing on his forehead.

Lysithea looks pleadingly at Ashe. “It’s for research purposes!” The words sound faintly familiar, and Ashe represses a shiver, remembering Linhardt’s million questions a few months back.

Ashe sighs internally. He should probably tell them to go back to work - hanging around the front counter like this is surely unprofessional - but it’s near closing hours, anyway, andー

“Why don’t you try a slice,” he says, and Felix flashes him a look of vague boredom and bewilderment at all the attention he’s garnering, which Ashe counts as a win because at least it’s not vitriol.

“I don’t like cake,” he repeats.

Lysithea groans. “I have two slices here! One’s from Mercedes’s bakery, and the other I baked myself, so I know they’re both good, but I need a taste tester.”

“Why don’t you try it yourself.”

“Because I baked one of the cakes.”

“Then get Ashe to do it.”

“But I want you to do it, because you said you didn’t like cake.”

Felix sighs long-sufferingly. They’re interrupted by movement in the back, a shadow. Ashe smells violets, and turns.

“Hey,” he says. “Done for the day?”

Yuri smiles, tightening his tie. “Just getting started.” His gaze slips to Lysithea and Felix, who stare back at him uncomprehendingly from where he emerged from the stairs leading to Ashe’s apartment.

Ashe ignores the questioning look Lysithea sends his way to ask Yuri, “Bartending?”

Yuri straightens out his suit. “You’ve figured out my schedule by now, haven’t you?”

“Not really,” Ashe admits. So far, he’s only seen Yuri leaving for work at nights and weekends, but he thinks he does something different during some weekdays, mostly because he doesn’t see Yuri as often on some days. He can’t tell if it’s because of how the liminal space works or if he has another job, though. But adding together Yuri working at the flower shop, bar, and the movie theatre, that’s already three jobs. Is it that difficult for Yuri to make ends meet?

“You’ll catch up at some point,” Yuri says. He finger-guns at Ashe before he leaves. On any other person it would have looked goofy, but Yuri has a confident smile on his face. “I’ll see you tonight?”

“Hopefully,” Ashe agrees.

The scent of violets vanish, out the door along with Yuri.

In the silence that follows, Lysithea asks, “Who was that? He came from upstairs, didn’t he?”

“I didn’t know you had a roommate,” Felix says flatly.

“Uh, he’s not a roommateーnot exactly,” Ashe says. “It’s complicated. I mean, we’re living together, but we’re also not living together.”

Lysithea hums in understanding. “I see,” she says, and though Ashe doubts she’s seeing it right at all, he doesn’t know how he wants to explain.

“He had a tattoo on him,” Felix says. “It looked incomplete.”

“He wanted me to tattoo him,” Ashe says. They’ll be having their second session this Sunday for shading. Ashe has been able to monitor Yuri’s tattoo throughout the week semi-successfully, and it’s been well taken care of.

“Your problem,” Felix says, his blunt way of ending the topic.

Lysithea glances at the cakes again. “Are you going to try one?”

Felix looks a second away from blowing up as he exhales, “For fuck’s sake, justー”

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


“Your parlour does piercings as well, doesn’t it?”

“It does,” Ashe replies, “though usually Felix does them.”

“That was the man I saw earlier, right? With the ear and nose piercings?”

“Yeah.”

“He looks like a small, angry cat.”

Ashe chokes on a laugh. “You’re notーentirely wrong,” he wheezes.

Yuri turns over on the couch to face him. The light of the television screen washes over his face, sets half of him into shadow, the murmur on the screen a musical backdrop to their conversation. Cheeto flicks his tail idly and leaps off the armrest beside Ashe to seek better entertainment as Ashe catches his breath and loses it all over again because of how Yuri’s looking at him.

“Alright,” Yuri says. “I was just wondering if you had any yourself.”

“Any piercings?” Ashe clarifies. “Only one.”

Yuri’s eyes widen in surprise. “Only one? Let me guess, you have a belly piercing?”

Ashe laughs, the sound loud in the quiet of the living room. In his half sleepy state, Yuri only blinks, takes in the state of him, and readjusts himself to lean his head on one hand as he lies on one side, all the better to look at Ashe on the other side.

“By your response, I’m gonna say I wasn’t close at all, was I?”

“No.”

Yuri hums, fingers tapping rhythmically along the side of his face. “I’ll figure it out someday. There’s only so many piercings a person can get on their body and hide.”

Ashe grins at the small challenge Yuri’s made for himself. Telling him would be easy, but that’s not what Yuri wants.

They leave it at that.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


Perfection scares Ashe, because it’s impossible to attain. People get caught in that word easily, in attaining perfection.

Perfection doesn’t exist. Not in the way some humans see it.

Ashe doesn’t seek perfection in his art. There would be no point otherwise if that’s all he wanted. What he wants to find when he looks back is improvement from the person he was before. He wants to be proud of older designs as proud as he is with his newest ones.

Every tattoo he completes is a goodbye for him. He can snap a picture of the finished product, but at the end of the day it’s unlikely he’ll ever see it again. Never see the colours fade, or if it changes at all, unless the person returns for touch-ups.

It’s a little bittersweet, tattoos, but Ashe thinks they represent life as it is; people come and go from other people’s lives, but their impact will always remain. Some leave imprints that are more than skin-deep. Ashe’s impact on people is in his tattoos.

Humans weren’t made for perfection, anyway, he thinks as he halts the buzzing of the coil machine. In the end, the skin sallows and sags, scars with the ease of bringing a match to paper.

“That’s the second session done,” Ashe says, moving away. “I hope it didn’t hurt as much as the first time.”

“It was...marginally better,” Yuri says.

Ashe tapes cling wrap around the tattoo, running through the aftercare instructions once more. Yuri rolls his eyes and insists that he memorized it after the first time, but he lets Ashe finish anyway.

Later he’ll walk into the kitchen after cleanup and find Yuri sitting in his chair, curled around himself, shrouded in darkness. Ashe gets that sometimes some people just need to sit in darkness to think, but he steps forward. Even though he can’t see Yuri’s face from where he stands, he thinks this is the most vulnerable he’s ever seen him.

“You’re going to get a crick in your neck if you fall asleep like that, Yuri,” he chides gently.

Yuri peeks out of a small sliver between his arms. “Too late for that,” he grumbles, but unwinds himself to stretch. The motion is reminiscent of a memory, in that same kitchen, but it’s gone before Ashe can grasp it, a lifeline lost to sea.

“Do you ever get dreams?” Ashe asks, because that is how every day with Yuri feels like when he’s around. Like he’s sleepwalking through life, a recollection of hazy daydreams.

“I don’t get dreams.”

“No?”

“No,” Yuri repeats. “Usually it’s just darkness until I wake up.”

Ashe looks at the darkness around them, the last light of the late summer sun lighting the edge of the counter, hidden behind laundry hung to dry.

“Does this feel like a dream to you, then”

“No,” Yuri says. “As much as I’d like to, I don’t dream of you, bluebird.”

“Oh,” Ashe says. He can’t think of anything else to say to that, so he responds with, “To be fair, I don’t dream of you, either.”

Yuri laughs. “Why would you want to dream of me when you have the real thing right here?”

Maybe it’s because this Yuri feels like a dream - there’s no way a man so intriguing can be anything but a dream, but there’s also no way Ashe can dream up someone like him. Ashe can be creative, but bringing another person to life isn’t something he’s capable of, not like this.

And Ashe’s heartーhis heart is hoping that Yuri’s real. He’s hoping on _liminal spaces_ and their strange magic that brought them together, whether it be by chance or fate or otherwise.

Ashe believes easily. He hopes for the best for everyone, not because it’s what the world taught him to believe, but because he has seen the world, and he would like to believe humans are capable of goodness.

The heart hopes easily.

Ashe’s heart is hoping for something he’s been searching for for a long time, searching within himself and aroundーhis own happiness.

He wants Yuri to be a part of his happiness.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


Ashe is at the kitchen table at 2am again. It’s the spot where he concentrates best, even while surrounded by his own clutter. Despite the fall of night, the heat persists, forcing Ashe to open the windows and allow cooler air to filter inside.

He’s busy with a new sketch - this time, trying to draw a jasmine from memory - while music goes on in the background when he hears the door slam open. There’s a shuffling sound, and a thud. He looks up at this disturbance. Yuri’s usually quieter when he enters and announces himself. He hears a soft giggle, and leaves the kitchen to investigate.

“Are you alright?” he asks, mildly alarmed at the sight of Yuri slumped over on the ground.

Yuri’s head snaps up at him, eyes hazy, grin lopsided. He taps two fingers to his forehead in a lazy salute. “All good here. Just...” He grunts as he staggers up, falls on the wall, struggles to find his legs. Ashe comes around the other side to pull Yuri’s arm over his head. He smells alcohol on his breath and sees a light flush dusting Yuri’s cheeks.

“How much did you have to drink?”

“Enough,” Yuri drawls, fighting to stand on legs that refuse to cooperate. Ashe manages to drag him all the way to the kitchen where Yuri collapses on his chair. “They said I should celebrate tonight, but I didn’t wanna wake up with a hangover in the morning.”

“Celebrate for what?” Ashe sets a cup of water beside Yuri. Yuri brings it toward him but doesn’t drink, only circles the rim of the glass with a finger.

“Can’t remember,” Yuri lies clearly with a too-sincere smile, waiting for his reaction. When he doesn’t get one, he flicks his finger at him. “Since when have I been so easy to read, bluebird?”

“I don’t know,” Ashe says honestly. It might be from Ashe’s experience and know-how that he can read Yuri easily, but it may also in part have to do with how much time they spend together.

Yuri hums. “I don’t like the sound of that,” he says decisively. He unhooks his legs from where they had wrapped around the chair’s legs to drag the chair with himself on it towards Ashe.

Ashe edges backward. Yuri’s chair presses to a front corner of his as Yuri finally stops to sit down heavily, much closer to Ashe than before. “Whatー”

“Shhh,” Yuri whispers, finger on Ashe’s lips, effectively shutting him up. “There’s been something I’ve been wanting to do for some time now.”

Yuri reaches up to cradle Ashe’s face in his hands. Mesmerized by the _want_ so clear in Yuri’s eyes, Ashe can only stare back as Yuri observes him, pressed close, knee-to-knee. Ashe keeps his hands balled into fists, forming crinkles in his shorts.

“I could make,” Yuri breathes, “a million constellations with your freckles.”

Ashe, as politely as he can manage, trying not to breathe onto Yuri’s face, asks, “Do you know any?”

“Of course.” Yuri ignores the tremble in Ashe’s voice to trace a shape on Ashe’s face. “That’s the Doughnut.”

“The Doughnut,” Ashe repeats faintly.

“Yes. It’s a circle. And this other one is the Sun.”

“That’s another circle.”

“It’s very easy to draw circles on your face. I don’t know any constellations,” Yuri admits.

Ashe lets Yuri trace imaginary shapes on his face. He doesn’t seem ready to stop anytime soon, but it’s comforting, the feel of his hands skimming his face, his heart racing all the while. He doesn’t know if he wants Yuri to remember this in the morning.

“Hey,” Yuri murmurs, and Ashe’s eyes open from where they had been drooping closed, almost lulled to sleep in Yuri’s hands, _by_ Yuri’s hands.

Ashe jolts awake when he sees Yuri leaning closer, eyes narrowing to close. For a moment, he wavers as Yuri’s breath hits his face, imagines pressing onwards, unclenching his hands to touch Yuri gently.

He draws away. Yuri follows his movement until he stops, feels the change shifting in the air, opens his eyes to Ashe’s reluctance. He hangs back, thumbs brushing Ashe’s face gently. He looks confused, almost pouting.

“Why not?”

Ashe’s heart hurts.

“I can’t.” _I don’t want to,_ he tries to say. _You’re drunk._

Instead he says, “Not like this.”

He doesn’t want his first kiss with Yuri to be a decision made with a hazy mind. He wants Yuri willingly, from both of their sides.

He wants it to be something special, thought-out between the both of them, not a whim, not because one of them is drunk and the other is hopeless.

Yuri doesn’t deserve anything less.

Yuri doesn’t say anything at first, and Ashe thinks he might not have heard. But he sees Yuri lower his eyes.

“I see,” Yuri says flatly, and he finally lets go. Ashe should feel relieved, but he flounders in the sudden loneliness that sets in, the cold of his face, that look on Yuri’s face as he shuts Ashe out, brick by brick that Ashe didn’t even know he tore down. “I was thinking that we could just have some fun, but...”

Yuri’s chair clatters to the floor as he stands abruptly. Ashe reaches a hand, automatic in helping to steady him but Yuri slaps his hand away, a clear rejection. He watches silently as Yuri stumbles away, hand held against the wall for balance as he struggles to open the door to the bedroom.

Alone, Ashe takes in the feel of the summer heat on his skin, the cold of shadows. His hand shakes as he looks at it, and he can only wonder at the disturbance building in his heart.

He has never wanted to sink into the shadows more than in this moment.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


They don’t talk about it.

They should. Ashe tries to find him in the morning, but Yuri’s nowhere to be found. And when he does find Yuri, spinning a pen mindlessly as he perches over an empty letter, he’s too preoccupied to talk, the words sticking inside of Ashe’s throat and refusing to leave.

However, after days of this, Ashe knows there’s something wrong. The smallest of tremors building into an earthquake, preparing to rip buildings from their foundations.

Ashe holds on, steady as can be in the face of potential disaster.

But he can’t stop the unsteady beat of his nervous heart when he hears Yuri return that night.

Yuri pauses at the sight of him at the kitchen table. Usually he would announce himself, take place naturally at his chair to talk, but this time he only tilts his head.

“We need to talk,” Ashe says, hating how cliché the words he summons are, wishes he knew how to not sound like he’s about to break up with a person he’s never been with in the first place.

A shutter closes behind Yuri’s eyes as he acquiesces, sitting across from Ashe, posture lax. It doesn’t fool Ashe.

Ashe fiddles with his pencil and forces himself to put it down; he can’t afford any distractions.

“I was thinking,” he says, “about that night.”

Yuri shifts to place his head on an open palm. “What about it?” he asks, but his voice is carefully guarded, forced lightness.

“I wanted to apologizeー”

“What for?” Yuri cuts in. “It’s not like you did anything wrong. I was drunk.”

“I don’t want you to get the wrong idea. It’s not that I don’t like you. It’s thatー”

“That I was drunk that’s the problem,” Yuri finishes. “And that’s where my problem lies.”

Ashe opens his mouth and snaps it shut. He doesn’t know what he means.

Yuri sighs at the confusion on Ashe’s face. He brushes his hair back. His voice is soft the next time he speaks.

“Do you know the difference between dreams and reality, bluebird?”

“What does that have to do with this?”

“Everything. Reality is harsher than can be. Dreams are built on lies.”

 _I am made of lies,_ Ashe hears.

“You’re not a dream.”

“Are you sure? Can I exist outside this liminal space? Can I join your reality?”

“I wouldn’t want you to,” Ashe says decisively.

“Why not?”

“You have friends in your universe. Family.” There’s no way Ashe would make Yuri abandon everyone he loves and leave, even if there was a way.

Yuri opens his palms in front of him. “Can’t you see that we won’t work out?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, bluebird,” he says, voice steeling, “is that there’s no way you can be okay with only a portion of my life.”

 _Can’t you see that we’re not meant to be?_ Yuri asks in the spread of his palms, that calm façade. Ashe can’t tell if he’s wearing that mask for Ashe or his own sake anymore.

He thinks Ashe will get tired of living within liminal spaces. That he’ll grow weary of all the times they eventually part when the moment draws to a close. He thinks Ashe is chasing a dream of Yuri, someone from a fairy tale who could never exist in reality.

And Ashe feels anger bubble up to the surface, mad that Yuri would think about this, but mostlyー

“You’re not even willing to take a chance?” Ashe says, voice trembling, emotions on the tipping point.

Yuri tilts his chin up like he’s trying to look down at him, or trying to hold back tears. “I’m not going to hurt you if there’s a shortcut through this.”

And, that. That hurts the most, the fact that Yuri doesn’t even consider his own feelings within this.

“You’re not even going to try,” Ashe confirms, unbelieving as Yuri rises from his seat.

Yuri doesn’t apologize; he meets Ashe’s eyes, steadfast, hands shoved into his pockets.

He only says, simply, “Save your love for someone who can give you what you want,” and leaves, the scent of violets trailing after him, a bird taking to the air with a melancholic song, his back the last thing Ashe sees. He doesn’t even have time to call him back, try to convince him otherwise.

The door to the apartment slams shut with an air of finality.

Ashe leans over the kitchen table, gasping, trying to remember how to breathe. Everything appears in burstsーhis watery vision, the incomplete sketch, his laptop, screen black. Ashe inhales sharp air and unclenches his first, looking at red crescents formed in his hand.

When he wakes it is the morning of August 13th - morning proper, ten minutes to opening the parlour. Yuri did not return, not in any way that Ashe can tell.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


Sometimes, it’s better to cut your losses early on before it gets to be too much.

(The problem is, Yuri might have already cut his losses too late.)

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


The month runs away without Ashe’s notice. He works and meets up with his friends and family when he can. All of them can tell there’s something wrong - he’s never bothered to hide, especially from them, but they don’t ask, and he’s glad for that. They comfort him in the smallest of ways - Caspar sends memes into the group chat at 2am when Ashe can’t sleep, his siblings distract him with games and squabbles that he laughs over till they let it go.

It’s easy to return to a life of routine without Yuri. He hangs up the laundry and doesn’t wait for the sound of a door being unlocked. He reads books and watches shows and doesn’t look around for someone to talk to where there should be someone.

The liminal spaces still existーAshe knows when he goes downstairs one morning to find the flower shop blooming. But he never sees Yuri, even if he catches a whiff of violets in the air, something he’s begun associating with Yuri.

Yuri’s avoiding him. Ashe doesn’t see him anymore, not even a glimpse like how it was before they properly met.

That’s fine, he tells himself glumly. Things are back to how Yuri wanted it to be. Nevermind if Ashe doesn’t like it, he doesn’t need to. Yuri’s the one who decided this was best for the both of them.

Ashe doesn’t voluntarily try to move on. He considers it briefly, but he decides instead to let time do what time does well, and plod onwards. Time, unfortunately, has no effect on his memory.

He knows plenty about Yuri, but at the same time not at all. He knows he likes horror, especially horror manga. He doesn’t have a favourite flower, which doesn’t explain why he owns a flower shop, but Yuri had only shrugged and said, _It’s a job,_ when Ashe had asked again. He likes hot chocolateーeven on summer nights, because his mother always made him hot chocolate when he was little. He’ll admit that he fell asleep while trying to read _The Two Towers_.

He doesn’t know Yuri’s full name. He’s not sure, even, if Yuri’s his real name. He doesn’t know when his birthday is.

He doesn’t know why he works so much. Any time that Ashe isn’t relaxing, Yuri’s out working. He still doesn’t know why he has so many jobs.

Is there anyone who cares about whether Yuri’s overworking? He must have some friends, though Ashe hasn’t met them, and can easily imagine Yuri distancing himself from others. Despite how outgoing he can be, Yuri keeps his secrets close.

He knows Yuri has a mother he writes letters to, but that’s as far as his knowledge on his family goes.

Ashe can’t help but worry, even though Yuri refuses to see him.

But he has his own life, and there is nothing he can do but continue on.

(If he stops to smell the flowers before the shop transforms back into his tattoo parlour, weaving back to reality, there’s just no helping the fact that he misses him.)

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


When Yuri sleeps, he dreams of Ashe.

He dreams of white lilies as large as trees and blue betta fish the size of whales swimming through underwater buildings.

And he’s always preferred darkness to sunlight, but Ashe’s laugh strikes bright ray into his heart, through murky water up to where the sun shines and flowers sway.

How fitting, that his heart would yearn when he’s already forced them apart.

He keeps himself awake, alert as can be. That way, he won't have any dreams.

He goes through his everyday routine; wake up, get dressed, go to work. Eat outside under the shade of a coffee shop the next street over, and lament how they don’t have any honey bubble tea.

Eating alone has never felt so lonely.

But there are worse things than being alone, and that is being in love, knowing that nothing will come of such feelings. Yuri’s a danger to Ashe, and it’s best if they’re apart, even if this will hurt Ashe at first.

Yuri goes about his day.

_Rinse, repeat._

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


“Sorry for interrupting your evening,” is the first thing Ashe says inside Byleth’s house.

Byleth waves off his apology, serves him tea, and sits back on the low table. There’s the sound of someone moving about upstairs, which Byleth mentioned was her girlfriend.

Where Ashe suspects there used to be a table in the living room there’s a kotatsu; they’re preparing for winter early. It’s not even October yet, with leaves still shining green on trees and the sun still reigning the sky. There’s knickknacks spread throughout. Ashe sees an abandoned game board, a guitar sitting upright, an empty easel by the large windows overlooking the backyard.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t able to meet you until now,” Byleth says. “I was busy this summer with concert band for the school I teach in.”

Ashe had done his research into who owned the tattoo parlour prior. The man was named Jeralt Eisner, and he had passed away, but Ashe did some more digging and found his daughter was still alive, and searched to contact her and arrange a meeting.

“That’s alright! I’m glad we were able to finally meet.” Ashe takes a sip of lukewarm mint tea, just the right temperature, and sets it down. “You said your father was the one who owned the shop?”

“Yes. He passed away a year ago. I was the one who sold the place, but before him, the shop was owned by my mother.”

Byleth doesn’t have any sadness in her eyes, only the smallest of smiles. Her face hasn’t changed much in expression the whole time Ashe has been there, so Ashe takes note of it. It seems she doesn’t have any regrets about selling the shop.

Satisfied at her apparent comfort at the topic, Ashe asks, “What kind of shop was it?”

“A bookshop.”

It’s difficult to imagine at first. Ashe has only seen the shop as three things: empty from when he first arrived, his tattoo parlour, and Yuri’s flower shop. But he thinks of bookshelves from floor to ceiling, running from wall to wall, the homeliness of it.

“Did anything strange ever happen in the bookshop? Or, did your parents ever tell you about something weird that happened?”

“They did,” Byleth says. “It was why I sold the place.”

Ashe leans forward, trying to hide his eagerness. “Can you tell me?”

Byleth shrugs. “It’s not anything important. My dad used to hold on to the story my mom told himーthat the shop was located directly on top of a leyline.”

“A leyline,” Ashe repeats. A line of supernatural energy that’s supposed to connect ancient monuments and structures to each other in alignment. And the tattoo parlour was built right on top of one.

Perhaps that would explain the amount of uncommon times Ashe has run into Yuri: the liminal space’s energy is amplified by the leyline. Was it a similar situation for his high school?

“Is there any way to move the leyline?”

Byleth shakes her head. “I sold it because of the strange noises I kept hearing at night, and because I wanted to move in with my girlfriend. I don’t think it’s possible.”

“Oh. Thank you, nonetheless.”

“It’s alright.” She pauses. “Have you been having trouble because of the leyline?”

He laughs sheepishly, the sound cutting off weakly. He observes his small, tired reflection in the tea. “In a way? But, really, everything’s fine.”

Byleth observes him for a moment longer. Ashe tries not to break away from the eye contact; it feels like he’s being assessed by one of his high school teachers, despite the fact that Byleth is around his age. It must have something to do with her being a teacher.

She breaks away to sip her tea. “Alright,” she says, “but feel free to tell me if you’re having any problems. I’ll do what I can to help you.”

“Thank you,” Ashe says, relieved at the release of tension.

Unfortunately, he doesn’t think this is a problem Byleth can assist him in.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


Being in Yuri’s version of the apartment when he’s not inside it makes Ashe feel like he’s invading, but he doesn’t have much choice when it comes to this. As it is, he tries to keep Cheeto in the kitchen where he’s less likely to make a mess of things, but he can’t help wandering to the fridge, the numbers scrawled onto the few sticky notes there without label or instruction as to who they are.

Linhardt tried to get him and Yuri to call each other once for his experiment, but it hadn’t worked; Ashe’s phone informed him that there was an **[UNSTABLE CONNECTION]** , and Yuri’s screen showed the same. He supposes that’s where they’re at right now with each other, too.

Yuri’s apartment doesn’t look lived in. Compared to Ashe’s messy state and scattered mind, there’s barely anything personal lining the walls or hints of the person Yuri is. Shelves are empty, clothes hang in closets in organized order. It has everything needed to live, but nothing of importance.

This is not a home.

Yuri’s home is contained in a small box Ashe can fit his arms around. He knows because it’s something he accidentally stumbled upon in the back of his closet when he was changing one morning, filled with mangaーhe saw Junji Ito’s _Uzumaki_ at the very top of the small pile, along with a worn deck of cards, spare clothes and shoes and a stack of opened letters.

Yuri’s life fits in a box. Ashe thinks there’s something wrong with that, with how it’s all still in a box, even though he’s been living here for longer than Ashe has. It’s like he’s always been ready to up and leave, to disappear at a moment’s notice.

Ashe’s fingers skim one of the numbers on the sticky notes, written in blue ink, and thinks of how easily Yuri managed to make himself invisible.

Ashe knows how love works. It doesn’t disappear. It didn’t disappear when his family’s restaurant crumbled to nothing, and it doesn’t disappear now. Love doesn’t diminish through distance; it just gets buried under everything else while Ashe is left numb to the feeling, until something buoys it back up again.

Ashe would call Yuri a thief for stealing Ashe’s heart, but he gave it away willingly, and Yuri’s inadvertently made a place for himself, a tattoo over Ashe’s heart.

The thing that hurts the most about this? He didn’t even get to confess properly - not with his words, certainly not with his actions.

 _It’s not your fault,_ he tells himself harshly. The only thing he can do is keep going.

(When he tries to call Yuri again and gets that same **[UNSTABLE CONNECTION]** , he wonders why he believed for a moment he would receive anything other than the same outcome.)

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


Yuri closes off his heart again. It’s stupidーhe never should’ve left himself so open in the first place. He never would’ve done this before, but Ashe had seen through him with a glance alone; he’s more dangerous than he looks. How _unexpected_. How hopeless Yuri was. How _stupid_.

He builds his walls up again, off of better things. Clogs arteries and veins so that nothing can leave and nothing can break in. He doesn’t have a knife in his hand but he makes one to pierce through tomorrow with a focused mind and fixed point. Keeps his pulse affixed beneath his thumb, like that will help him control the fluctuation when he sees the bottle of pills on the kitchen counter, an unwanted gift from the phantom burglar in his heart.

And at one point, he even dared to thinkー

Of all the stars and constellations Hapi’s told him of, the only ones that mattered were the ones scattered across Ashe’s face, the world mapped out on his body that Yuri had only caught a glimpse of.

He’s never going to see anything more than that, feel more than the bridge of Ashe’s nose and the softness of his cheeks.

It’s not like a relationship built within a liminal space would work out, anyhow. Yuri can die with the memory of _almost_.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


Ashe is in the kitchen. The day’s work of planning a complicated tattoo sleeve has him exhausted. With his mind like a sieve and his eyes burning from being in front of his laptop for too long, he can’t bring himself to sketch anything tonight, and brushes Cheeto’s fur as they watch _The Good Place_.

He hears it, clear as a cold sunny day without a hint of cloudiness, glass shattering on tile, lights fracturing off broken shards.

He jolts. Cheeto, curled up in front of him on the table, lifts his head.

He looks around, but nothing’s out of place. Still, the offset wrongness of the sound has him on edge.

“You heard that, didn’t you?” he murmurs to Cheeto.

Cheeto flicks his tail in silent agreement.

They return to their show, Ashe more apprehensive than before. Cheeto purrs as Ashe threads fingers into his fur, which serves to alleviate any discomfort.

Nothing happens for the rest of the night, but that feeling of something gone wrong doesn’t go away, like a bruise starting to purple over.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


He gets his answer the next day when he finds Yuri in his bed. Only his head is visible, the rest of him hidden under the covers, face pale and sweaty. His sleep is fitful, judging from the twist of his mouth and the scrunch between his brows, and it draws Ashe to sit in the chair that’s been placed at his bedside, worried and unsure. Now that he’s closer he can see the deep bags under Yuri’s eyes. Usually they’re hidden by concealer, but the last time Ashe saw him they weren’t this prominent.

He looks worse than Ashe imagined. It’s not reassuring, but he is, at least, still here. Whatever anger Ashe has dissipates at the small rise and fall of Yuri’s chest. There will be time for that later, hopefully.

(Ashe has gotten very tired of hoping lately. It wears on the heartstrings, hope.)

The sound of the door creaking open has him turning to see a woman with sunset hair carrying a bag of grocery. She stares at him and raises a finger to her lips for silence, gesturing for him to follow her. Ashe shuts the door quietly behind him and finds her in the living room, setting aside medicine on the table.

“You must be bluebird,” she says, which confirms Ashe’s thoughts as to who she is. It’s disorienting, to go so long without hearing Yuri’s nickname for him and then hearing it from a stranger’s mouth. Ashe tries not to show how unnerved he is by something so small.

“And you’re a friend of Yuri’s.”

“I am, but this isn’t the first time we’ve met.”

Ashe nods. They were younger then, and she was wearing a suit instead of sweats, but it’s hard to forget that shade of hair, cascading down her shoulders.

“I’m Hapi.”

“Ashe. Is Yuriーis he okay? What happened?”

Hapi flicks a finger in annoyance. “He’s sick. Collapsed on the job. We think he’s been overworking himself.”

“Oh.” At a loss, Ashe takes to automatically petting Cheeto when he leaps into his lap. He can’t tell who’s being comforted by the action. “How many jobs does he work?”

“How much do you know?”

“The flower shop and the bar, and on the weekends the movie theatre.”

“Yuri-bird has four jobs.” Hapi ticks them off on one hand. “Flower shop on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, a convenience store a few blocks down on Tuesdays and Thursdays, bartending at night on weekdays, and the movie theatre on weekends.”

“Why does he have so many jobs?”

Hapi shrugs. She looks uncaringly casual, but Ashe sees the worry-lines on her forehead, the way she picks at her nails. “Yuri-bird’s more secretive than most. It took Coco threatening to play outside his window every night to even get his schedule.”

“Coco?”

“My girlfriend. She can play a mean oboe.”

Despite his worry, Ashe is relieved to hear, at least, that Yuri has friends. “So he’s that secretive with everyone, huh?” he sighs with the smallest of hopeless smiles.

“He just doesn’t want to get anyone into his problems. Yuri-bird makes himself complicated so people won’t want to get tangled up in his mess.” Hapi eyes him like a bird hanging over prey, ready to swoop in. “But something tells me you’re already all tangled up.”

Ashe smiles, a little grim, a little playful. For all the frustration Yuri’s caused him this past month alone, Hapi has a point. No matter how mad Ashe is, he’s past the point of knee-deep and has full-body thrown himself into the life of the secretive Yuri - albeit unwillingly and unknowingly at first.

Ashe is convinced by Hapi quite easily to stay at Yuri’s bedside while she prepares soup for when he wakes. He can hear cabinets slamming open and shut as she tries to find utensils, and can only hope she manages to locate everything she needs.

Yuri stays asleep the whole time Ashe is there. Despite how all-encompassing he can be when he wants to be, it’s at times like these Ashe is reminded how small a person can be without their presence. Ashe fixes the bed covers so his body is covered. He wonders passively if Yuri’s dreams are peaceful in their blank blackness, and how uncomfortable he looks while he’s asleep, like his heart is being wrung out.

There’s the scent of violets that rise when Ashe wakes; he had fallen asleep in the chair. He unwinds himself from the position he locked himself in, feels bones crack and sigh, and finds his bed empty without a sign of a body having slept in it.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


“He was here, wasn’t he?”

“You can tell.”

“Yeah.”

“He was really worried about you. It was cute, in a puppy-dog kind of way.”

“Of course he would be.”

“Yuri-bird.”

“Yeah?”

“You should tell him. I think he’s the type of person you can open up to. Mind you, I talked to him for less than five minute so maybe I don’t know, but...he seemed genuine.”

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


On the train ride home, Ashe observes everyone as discreetly as he can. There’s two high school students hunched over a phone, a businesswoman holding the railing, coffee in hand, a man with headphones blasting slumped over in his chair, asleep.

Ashe wonders how many of them are from his world, and how many are from the other one.

(He doesn’t call it Yuri’s, even if it technically is, in a way.)

Watching a crowd sweep in and another leave, blending into each other so well Ashe can’t tell the difference. Does it matter, which dimension they’re from? Aren’t they all human in the end, with thoughts and feelings and dreams?

Apparently Yuri thought it mattered.

Ashe waits for a tell - a flicker of light phasing through a shoulder, a person disappearing into shadow, but nothing happens all the way to his stop.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


Ashe doesn’t mind the uneventfulness of his life. He will take this - the back-and-forth of employees and customers, the stillness of the shop in the early morning, the sound of Marianne’s humming under the noise of the machine - over any thrill of danger. His life is exciting for him because he’s doing what he loves. Not a lot of people get to say that about their job, but Ashe is lucky. Other than this, he has no dreams of grandeur, no seeking to defy the stars with an outstretched hand.

When he sees the outline of a purple shadow lengthen and crawl up silently along the kitchen walls, extending out to become a body leaning out the window, neither large nor looming but familiar all the same, Ashe tenses, waiting for the illusion to end, the dream to break.

It doesn’t.

Yuri turns to face him with tired eyes, without any bravado or false niceties, and Ashe knows this is no illusion.

“Why are you here,” is what Ashe says, too flat to be a question. His pencil trembles in his hand as Yuri approaches him, placing a hand on the back of a chair that Ashe used to call his until he stopped coming around but not taking a seat.

It’s been a week since Yuri was sick in bed. His sickness seems to have passed, but the fatigue remains in the composure he no longer carries himself with.

“I got tired of dreaming,” Yuri says.

Ashe frowns. “I thought you didn’t dream.”

“Not before I met you, I didn’t.”

Ashe feels bitter resentment well up at the casual statement. He puts down his pencil to press his hands flat on the table, reminds himself that the ground beneath him is still stable even with the angry snap of heartstrings within him ringing a dissonant chord. “What do you want, Yuri? Because the last thing I remembered you saying is you wanted nothing to do with me.”

“I know. But I wanted toー”

“Do you treat everyone around you like this?” Yuri freezes. Ashe lets the words fall from a poison-tipped tongue, like ammunition he’s been storing up to take aim, and pulls the trigger. “Drop them and pick them back up on a whim, always putting yourself at a distance because you’re scared someone will get too close? Never letting people in, pushing them away, telling yourself that it’s for their own good? How does it feel, to be so righteous that you can decide that for a person without letting them choose themselves?” Ashe takes in a shuddering breath, throat cloying with emotion, hates it but expels it all the same in scalding tears and a choked-up voice. “You didn’t let me choose, Yuri. You didn’t even let me talk.”

He sees Yuri move to take a seat, movements slow, hands reaching to Ashe before he stills and drops them uselessly in his lap. Ashe looks up to see Yuri with a sad, lost expression on his face and takes sick pleasure in the fact that he is the cause of that. Good. Let him suffer. He deserves all of it. It curdles into guilt all too soon that Ashe smothers to wipe away his welling tears.

“I didn’t mean to do this,” Yuri says.

“Well, you did.” Ashe’s voice sounds wet but it comes out steadier than expected.

“I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

Ashe peers at him through the space between his arms. “You’re leaving again?”

“No. _No,_ bluebird.” Yuri makes an aborted motion for his hand but seems to think better of it, brushes back his own hair instead with a sigh even as the nickname sends a pinprick of feeling through Ashe. “I won’t avoid you anymore. I’m here to stay this time, if you’ll let me.”

At his twisted features, Ashe can’t find a lie. He looks alarmingly vulnerable, face open and honest without any restraint.

“Okay,” is all Ashe says with a hiccup. He can’t find it in himself to smile right now, but Yuri does, a defeated one the lightest of lips turned upward, mirroring the emotion Ashe feels inside: hope.

“Okay,” Yuri acquiesces.

A moment later, as Yuri tentatively prods at Ashe’s leg with a foot in some semblance of comfort, Ashe allows himself to believe that Yuri is here to stay this time.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


Two days after his apology, Yuri walks into his tattoo parlour with honey bubble tea that he gives to Ashe.

“An official apology,” Yuri says as he watches Ashe take a tentative sip. “The next time I plan on doing anything drastic, I’ll hear you out first.”

“How about you stop making any decisions at all?” Ashe retorts, surprising a laugh out of Yuri, and it sounds like the start of something new.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


Yuri returns to Ashe’s life, and Ashe to Yuri’s. It isn’t easy. For all they try to make up for lost time, liminal space doesn’t always agree with them; their time is ended shortly, or it’s bad timing. Conversations are rushed, shared meals cut short. Ashe reacquaints himself with the sound of his nickname falling from Yuri’s lips, the scent of violets following the man around, the only lingering proof that he was there.

The effort between the two isn’t wasted. For every laugh of Yuri’s Ashe drinks in, every late-night-early-morning doze from the screen of whatever random show and relearning each other’s routine, Ashe breathes in the ordinariness of it all and wishes for the same, everyday. This is not lost to Yuri, who reads Ashe’s expression as easily as Ashe has learned to read his, but he only grins knowingly, peeking over to see Ashe’s latest sketch, and leaves him be.

“You look happier,” Allen tells him that Saturday as they clean the plates after a hefty lunch.

Ashe doesn’t pause in cleaning but glances up at him. “I didn’t look happy before?”

“It’s not like you _didn’t,_ you just look...better. Now.” Allen shrugs, unable to find the adequate words, and returns to cleaning the dishes, never the talkative one between Ashe’s two younger siblings.

Christophe swings an arm over Ashe. “He’s right, bro. I’m pretty dense, but even I could tell something was off about you. Looks like there’s no problems anymore, though, huh?”

Ashe smiles, thinking of the night before when Yuri had tried to pet Cheeto, got booped on the nose by his paw, and ended up in a sneezing fit. “No,” he says, though new problems have cropped up in the form of questions such as, since when did Yuri have violet-scented shampoo? “I’m happy.”

“That’s our little sunshine,” Christophe mutters, noogying his head. He catches Allen around the shoulders, and while Allen wheezes at the force of it Christophe calls over his shoulder, “Eleana, get over here! We’re doing a group hug!”

“Maybe wait until we’re done cleaning the dishes,” Allen mutters.

Eleana, from the living room couch, says, “Sorry, not home right now. Leave a message after the beep. Beeeep!”

“Eleana!”

“Ugh, fine!” She stomps over to them. “You are all so sappy.”

“I hope you’re not including me when you say that,” Allen says.

“Shut up, this is family bonding time.” Christophe captures Eleana in his grip so they’re all stuck in an awkward embrace facing the sink. His face scrunches up. “Allen, when’s the last time you showered?”

“Uhー...”

“At least tell me you showered this week.”

“I was busy,” Allen says meekly.

“Not busy enough to not take care of yourself, buddy. Ashe, tell ‘im.”

Ashe laughs, and, distracted, accidentally sprays water on all of them. Christophe tells Allen to take a proper shower and Allen, now sopping wet, glowers but accepts his fate without complaint.

Allen’s comment, however, follows Ashe all the way home, up the stairs and as time passes. Yuri meets him in the kitchen after work, throwing off jade earrings and settling beside him after preparing a cup of hot chocolate for them both.

Watching the seconds tick down for the next episode to begin, Ashe says, “Yuri?”

“Hm?”

“When’s the last time you were happy?”

Yuri looks at him then, curled up on the chair, cup cradled almost reverently in his hands. Ashe has seen babies treated with less head support the way Yuri holds that cup.

“Right now, bluebird.”

Even as Ashe feels himself flush at how easily Yuri admitted that, how sincere he sounded, he reiterates, “I mean, when’s the last time you indulged yourself?”

Yuri glances down at the cup and back at him in amusement, but Ashe’s mind is on other things. Empty letters, still hands. A mind on the run.

“When’s the last time you took a day off, Yuri,” Ashe says, and by now he knows how to look for the signs when Yuri’s eyes harden slightly as his hands clench infinitesimally tighter round the cup. “When’s the last time you visited your mom?”

The show plays on. Ashe pauses the episode, and when he turns back it’s to find Yuri rubbing a thumb up and down his cup subconsciously while in thought.

It’s in the quietest of voices Yuri tells him, “It’s complicated. She’s in the hospital,” information offered up to Ashe freely. He nods at this, connecting the dots now to the letters, the multiple jobs, late night shifts that has Yuri coming home late.

“You should visit her anyway,” Ashe says. “She probably wants to see you again. She probably misses you, with how often she writes back.” And she does write back; Ashe remembers the stack of letters stored carefully in Yuri’s box in the closet, creases worn, words regularly traced over by a finger so often that the ink has faded a little.

Yuri must see the hopeful look in Ashe’s eyes, because he says, “Maybe I will.”

It’s enough of an answer for Ashe. Satisfied, he resumes the current episode, taking a sip of hot chocolate that’s more lukewarm than hot, and returns to his sketch. Yuri nurses his own hot chocolate, deep in thought. Eventually Ashe falls asleep first, head buried in the nook of his arm.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


Ashe wakes up with a knee pressed into the small of his back. This late at night, it is the only disturbance in his mind, and he pushes it away gently to bury himself back into the pillow. He hears a small groan by his ear, less sound and more air puffing onto him, and shivers at the unexpected warmth.

He stills when he feels the edge of a knife press onto his neck, all too aware suddenly of another body pressed up to him, the cold of the blade, the fact that he’s in bed and definitely doesn’t remember taking anyone else with him the night before.

“Yuri,” Ashe whispers. It’s too dark to see more than a vague outline, but he feels the weight of the knife vanish. He fumbles to turn on the lamp at his bedside, watching Yuri hiss and squint up at him, bleary eyed.

“What time is it,” Yuri mutters.

Ashe blinks at the brightness of his phone screen and tells him, “A little past three.”

“Figures.” Yuri buries himself back under the covers. Ashe is slower to join him, trying not to press up against him, but it’s impossible with how small the bed is, meant only for one person, and their legs inevitably tangle. Ashe accepts his fate and turns off the lamp, Yuri mumbling his thanks somewhere in the bed as Ashe rearranges himself.

“I didn’t know you brought a knife to bed,” Ashe says.

“It’s become a sort of security blanket over time.”

Ashe wonders what sort of life Yuri had to live for him to get used to sleeping with one eye open, a knife in his hands. Sensing his distress, Yuri pats Ashe on the head.

“Don’t surprise me while I’m sleeping and hopefully no one gets stabbed, hm?”

“Okay,” Ashe agrees, though the question lingers in his throat like a bad cold.

Ashe feels Yuri shift to face him, feels the weight of his gaze more than he sees him, just an outline of shadow and warmth. The light press of Yuri’s hand on his arm is the most pressure he’s ever felt in a long time.

In darkness Yuri admits in only seven words, “I used to be a gang leader.”

It’s not life changing. It’s not even surprising. Ashe’s view of Yuri doesn’t shift even with this small confession, a look into a world he ran alongside once, light shed on Yuri’s persona.

“I used to be a thief,” Ashe says, because he feels like the proper response in the face of that is something of his own; a truth for a truth. “I was a good one, too.”

He doesn’t talk about how it was the only way he and his siblings could survive after their parents died in the fire that burned their restaurant to the ground. How every day felt like he was living on borrowed time that he extended with each thing he stole, how he relied on luck and eventually skill to rob people even though he didn’t want to, but he needed to make sure his siblings were well-fed, or at least, fed. The long days where he went hungry, the times he was seen and chased and sometimes caught, beaten black-and-blue till the air he inhaled were knife-punctures in his lungs.

When Lonato caught him - trying to steal a _book_ of all things - and decided to take him and his siblings under his wing, all Ashe felt was relief. _Finally_ , a place to rest that didn’t have a leaking roof or cold air blasting in or the noise of strangers all around. Maybe, it could be a permanent place to rest.

Maybe it could be home.

Ashe was lucky. He doesn’t take that for granted.

In turn, Yuri doesn’t say anything else. Ashe is sure he has stories of his own, nightmares he’s so used to seeing they’ve become mundane things he can brush off without a thought. Ashe never had a gang to call his own, and he can only imagine how Yuri led them.

It can’t have been easy to tell Ashe that, and for a moment he wonders how he managed those seven words. Yuri inches closer, a breath of air hitting Ashe as the weight of Yuri’s head dips onto Ashe’s pillow, and he is reminded that they are both people who are used to the cover of secrecy, and like all things secretー

Some things are easier to admit under the cover of darkness.

Ashe falls asleep to the alluring scent of violets, and he wakes to an empty pillow with a body missing from his bed, warmth lingering still when he presses a hand into it.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


“This is a last minute request,” Yuri says first thing after he arrives, shoes toed off, keys hooked up, jacket discarded. “I want to change the colour of the violets.”

In the time since Yuri’s return, neither of them mentioned Yuri’s unfinished tattoo. Now early into October, Ashe flips through his sketchbook to the original design. Yuri tugs at his black turtleneck sweater as he takes a seat beside him in the kitchen.

“Alright, what do you want them changed to?”

“Blue. Can you do it?”

Ashe hums. “It’s only the colour, so I can.”

“Can we get the tattoo done now?”

“Now?” Ashe glances at the time; 4:13pm. It’ll be past dinner by the time he finishes, if he manages to finish, if the unknown magic working the liminal space will let him work that long.

But seeing the quietly eager look on Yuri’s face, he can’t help but accept. It is Sunday, after all.

The two previous sessions Ashe had completed the lining and shading of the tattoo. The only thing left to complete the tattoo was adding colour.

“This might hurt a little more,” he warns him as Yuri takes off his sweater and leans back. “I’ll need to press a little harder to get the colour in. I’ll try to make the process as quick as possible.”

“Don’t bother,” Yuri says with a wry grin. “Didn’t I tell you the first time that I’d rather it look good than you rushing it? It’s gonna hurt either way, so might as well, yeah?”

Ashe hesitates for a moment before nodding. He pulls on his gloves, powers up the coil machine, and starts prepping.

It’s important that Ashe is careful with this (potentially) final session. If he rushed, or didn’t concentrate, there would be blanks in the midst of the colours, portions of the skin he failed to fill in, signs of inadequacy telling everyone that the tattoo artist hadn’t done their job properly. The tattoo also wouldn’t look as nice up close.

It could be hours or days that pass as Ashe colours in Yuri’s tattoo. In his head is an imagined version of the complete tattoo that he watches come to life on Yuri’s skin with each careful stroke, gentle as possible. Section by section blooms to life.

Ashe wipes away the last of excess blood that wells up to look at the tattoo as a whole.

Stemming from his collarbone, vines burst and violets flourish open to breathe, travelling up along the side of his neck, blue starbursts hidden behind heart-shaped leaves, too shy to convey their feelings just yet. They taunt Ashe as Yuri sits up, moves his neck so the violets rustle in the wind.

“Well, bluebird?” Yuri asks when he checks the tattoo in the mirror. “Does it look how you imagined it to be?”

Yuri looks at him from inside the mirror. Ashe only stares back. The violets suit him. Something in Ashe fills up, buoyed to nearly bursting with the lightness of it.

“No,” Ashe says, “it’s better.”

Yuri smiles back at him, and it’s all Ashe needs.

“You remember how to take care of your tattoo?” Ashe says as he tapes the cling wrap on for the last time. “I can run through the instruction again, if you’d like.”

Yuri rolls his eyes. His hair is staticky after pulling on his turtleneck sweater, floating a little in the air. “Don’t worry your pretty little head, I got it the first time. Leave the wrap for an hour, wash it off. No sunbathing for three weeks, no scratching or proddingー”

Ashe laughs, giving in. “Alright, I’ll trust that you know what to do.”

Later, when they’re back upstairs and lounging on the couch as they watch another show like they always do, Yuri says, “You never asked why I decided to get this tattoo.”

“I assumed you didn’t want me to ask.” Plenty of customers don’t explain their reasoning behind a tattoo. Ashe doesn’t like to pry. But Yuri flips his hand at him, offering him an opportunity, so Ashe smiles and takes it: “Why did you decide on this tattoo?”

“I don’t take flower meanings very seriously.” Ashe nods; he’s seen the poster hanging in the flower shop with generalized flower meanings. He knows roses are romantic and hyacinths are for when the giver is apologetic for something. And violets. “This might be the one time I bothered checking for the meaning of a flower for anything.”

“Is that why you changed the colour of the violet to blue?”

Yuri’s smile is as mysterious as the other side of the moon. “Why don’t you find out for yourself?”

It’s a challenge if anything, as small as it may matter, though Ashe feels like Yuri’s trying to tell him something, just beyond the veil.

“That still doesn’t explain _why_ you decided to get a tattoo, though, only why you changed the colour.”

“Oh. It’s the same as you, bluebird.” Yuri shrugs. “I got tired of being invisible.”

He makes the answer sound easier than it is. Between them, Ashe thinks Yuri has been in the shadows longer, long enough that they bite into his skin and leave scars. Ashe hears _I want to be like you, with you_ in his answer. Out into the sun. No more hiding. No more running.

They return to their show. Their talks go late into the night about nothing and everything, back and forth, until Yuri fades, or maybe it is Ashe who is fading, but there is no cause to fret at the sight of Yuri’s smile.

He’ll be back.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


“Have a good one, yeah?” Christophe always squeezes a bit tighter for a moment in a hug before letting go, like he’s trying to put a little more warmth into the person on the receiving end. Ashe lets him, savours it a moment longer, and is slow to emerge from his embrace. “Be careful. We’ve had typhoon warnings for the past morning now.”

“I’ll try my best,” Ashe says, not one to make promises he can’t keep, and boards the train, the bag shoved into his hands by his siblings before he could leave swaying by his side.

There’s less people in the train than usual on this Saturday evening, the cause attributed to the greying clouds spinning into a funnel overhead to form a foreboding eye watching them. Ashe doesn’t have time to wonder about liminal spaces. Rain patters, slow at first, then vicious on the windows, pouring viciously by the time Ashe arrives at his stop. Under the threat of fierce winds that blow his coat open, he tightens his hold on the bag that almost slips out of his grasp, flips on a hood that’s inevitably blown off, and seeks to outrun the rainstorm by jumping over puddles and streams of water on the sidewalk.

(He fails.)

He slams the door shut behind him, barely paying any mind to the flowers that bristle at his presence, the rain that he brings in with the mess he is.

He hears someone tut at him, and looks up to see Yuri emerge from the backroom, setting aside a potted primavera. He vanishes into the backroom, only to return with a towel. Ashe thinks at first that he’s going to hand it to him, but Yuri reaches up with the towel to ruffle his hair. In the gentle, repetitive motions, Ashe finds a smile on Yuri’s face, small but hopeful. He has a smudge of dirt on his nose, and the sight of it makes Ashe’s heart twinge.

“Did something happen today?” Ashe says. “You look happy.”

Yuri continues towelling Ashe’s hair. “I took a certain bluebird’s advice and decided to pay a visit to my mom.”

“You did?” Ashe realizes now that on Saturdays Yuri shouldn’t be at the shop, but he is. He must have taken a day off, but that explains how relieved Yuri looks in a way Ashe has never seen before, a burden previously unseen lifted from his shoulders. “That’s great! How was she?”

“She was fine. We ended up cutting the visit short because of the typhoon warnings, though.” So Yuri’s universe received those warnings, too. Yuri glances down at the soggy bag. “Is that cake?”

“Uh, yeah! My siblings gave meー” Ashe pauses. “How did you know it was cake?”

“Your birthday’s marked on the calendar on your fridge.” Yuri grins, a sliver of curved moonlight. “Happy birthday, by the way.”

“Oh. Thank you.” Feeling quite stupid, Ashe ducks at the sound of Yuri’s light laughter to look inside the bag. “Oh no, the cake...”

Yuri softly knocks their heads together to peer at the mess, wincing sympathetically. “Too bad. Looks like you’re only getting one cake today.”

“One?”

“What, did you think I came home early without cake?”

“You bought cake?”

“It’s in the fridge.” Yuri trails a hand around Ashe’s ear, threads fingers through his hair. “Do you wanna go have a slice right now?”

Instead of answering, Ashe leans as close as he dares, grabbing the towel on his head to wipe the smudge of dirt on Yuri’s nose away, delicate as can be.

“Sorry, you had a bit of dirt there,” Ashe says, feeling like he’s been put too close to the light of the moon, true colours exposed. Yuri stares back, mouth parted. He looks, for once, lost for words, so lost Ashe tentatively calls, “Yuri?”

Yuri straightens up, another smile on his face that Ashe feels is strangely placed. Not forced, but hard to read. “We should go.”

“...Okay,” Ashe says, puzzled. He glances down at the worn towel, the dirt that’s been cleaned off Yuri’s face staining the fabric.

When he looks back up, Yuri’s figure is already disappearing up the stairs without so much as a creak.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


Due to the shifting weather, Ashe can no longer keep the window open on Sundays. The laundry takes longer to dry.

It’s past 2am, and Ashe is wondering how it got to this, to Yuri leaning onto his shoulder, hair tickling his neck; to Yuri’s fingertips gliding up and down his arm, tracing patterns along the tattoos, Yuri’s own vibrant tattoo staring into Ashe’s eyes, begging for a confirmation; to Yuri looking up after a too-long pause on Ashe’s part, a suspicious look in his eyes.

Unfortunately, Ashe has always been easy to read. He’s never had to hide his emotions, or tried to. Back when he was a thief, it was unlikely that anyone would look twice at him; he stayed in the shadows. That made it easier for him to observe others, but now, Yuri sees the look on Ashe’s face and pauses. A flicker of a grin slips onto his face as he edges back, lures Ashe forward with the growing distance alone.

“Well?” he says. “What are you waiting for?”

It’s the most express permission he’s probably going to get from Yuri.

Ashe doesn’t need to ask when Yuri knew, or how long he’s known. It’s possible he’s known the whole time, maybe before even Ashe himself had realized what he was feeling.

How fitting that this should happen in their kitchen, where they had their first meeting, their first date, their first everything. _Almost everything._

Slow to lean forward, Ashe screws his eyes shut and presses a chaste kiss on Yuri’s lips. It’s more of a peck if anything with how hastily he retreats, how unsure he feels, waiting for Yuri’s reaction.

Yuri tilts his head, revealing the violets crowding up the side of his neck, and smiles teasingly. “Is that all you got?”

Spurred by the challenge, Ashe feels something being dangled just out of reach, and reaches forward to grasp it with both hands, makes it tangible by taking a breath and closing the gap much faster this time, tangling one hand in Yuri’s hair, the other landing on his arm. He thinks that at times, the dream is really reality, because in this moment that feels like a dream, he’s never felt more awake.

Yuri kisses back with a slow, burning fervour that Ashe struggles to return. He’s forced back into his chair as Yuri pushes forward, a hand tugging lightly at Ashe’s hair. When he feels Yuri’s tongue lick against his lips, teeth nibbling at his bottom lip, he opens his mouth willingly and shivers at the taste of hot chocolate and the slide of tongues against each other, Yuri tracing the top of his teeth with his tongue.

Yuri makes a noise of surprise suddenly at the _click_ of metal against his teeth that Ashe feels all the way to his toes and draws back, Ashe still chasing his lips. He tugs at Ashe’s chin until Ashe opens his mouth, eyes widening slightly at what he finds. “I didn’t expect a tongue piercing from you.”

Ashe closes his mouth and shrugs with a shy smile, strangely pleased. “Most people don’t.”

Yuri hums and wastes no time in delving back into Ashe’s mouth, until Ashe only knows the feel of Yuri’s hair in his hands, the burning weight of Yuri on top of him.

He would ask what brought this sudden change of mind on Yuri’s part, but he doesn’t think any of this is sudden. Because he found in his search on the internet in the early hours or morning that blue violets, among many other meanings, signify love, and that this has been long awaited, maybe even _overdue_ , by the both of them.

Yuri is the first to break apart, foreheads keeping them connected, thumbing at Ashe’s lips as Ashe takes ragged breaths until he finally gathers enough to say, “What now?” in a wrecked voice that Yuri’s lips quirk up at. Thinking of how he was kissing those lips only moments before makes Ashe flush.

“Whatever you want, bluebird,” Yuri says. “You’re the one who thought we could make this work, didn’t you?”

That’s true. Ashe was the first to think that. Even with the strangeness of their meeting, the sporadic timing of liminal spaces that Ashe is learning to get used to, Ashe believes they can make this work, if they put in the effort. It won’t be perfect, but no relationship ever is, unless it’s a dream or a fairy tale, and this is neither.

Ashe’s answer is to press a kiss up on the edge of Yuri’s lips to feel another smile forming.

(ーAnd perfection, like all things unattainable, isn’t needed in his life, only this.)

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


The best mornings start when Ashe wakes before the alarm and feels another body shifting beside him on the bed. As rare as these moments are, they are always precious, and Ashe keeps every one of them locked tight in a memory.

Yuri groans as Ashe wakes him with a quiet hand on his head. A bleary eye opens to glare at him by the lamplight Ashe switches on.

“Good morning,” Ashe says, sweet bordering on cheeky. He’s something he loves about Yuri, among everything else: he’s not a morning person.

“You’d think,” Yuri says, unimpressed, “a certain bluebird would learn by now not to bother me when I’m sleeping, but no.”

“I can’t help it if we’re both light sleepers.”

“You owe me for this rude awakening.” Yuri’s head pops up from the covers, hair dishevelled, rubbing his eyes open, commanding, “Kiss me.”

Ashe complies.

“Again.”

“You’re greedy,” Ashe murmurs, but he presses another kiss onto him, then another, and one more, trailing kisses down the side of Yuri’s neck along his tattoo.

Yuri grabs his head in a silent insistence to focus, and Ashe kisses him softly on the lips this time, tastes morning breath and violets.

“I’m insatiable,” Yuri says with a grin too sleepy to look confident.

“And I’m making breakfast,” Ashe tells him as he slides off the bed. Yuri stays buried under the covers to get some more shut-eye.

When he peers out the window it’s to see a downy of snow piling the sidewalks, the occasional car slow to pass the empty street. He starts preparing breakfast.

Minutes in, he hears a loud _bang_ from the bedroom and Yuri swearing loudly. The love of his life emerges a moment later with a blanket wrapped around him like a cloak, dangling Cheeto in front of him by the scruff of his neck. He drops the cat, who meows innocently at him and paws at his own face.

“Your cat hates me.”

“He loves you,” Ashe says as Cheeto nuzzles against Yuri’s leg affectionately, a purr building in his throat. It’s certainly progress from a few months prior, though it looks like Yuri doesn’t appreciate it at all. “It’s not his fault if you’re allergic.”

“It’s not my fault, either.” Yuri stoops down to glare Cheeto in the eyes and tell him, “You are a bastard.”

“He’s a baby!”

“An insufferable bastard,” Yuri adds. Still, he concedes by running a hand through Cheeto’s fur, sneezing loudly, and having to wash his hands at the sink. He settles for watching Ashe prepare pancakes as Cheeto wanders off to his cat tower, the light slow to bloom on his face, but when it does, it takes Ashe’s breath away at the sight of pillow creases on one side of Yuri’s fond face and he almost drops the stack of pancakes on the way to the table.

Yuri is the first to leave, freshening himself up in the washroom and changing into work attire. His kiss to Ashe as he’s rushing by while he’s cleaning the plates is a simple one, and he whispers, “I’ll be back,” by the curve of Ashe’s ear.

Seeing the books that aren’t his added onto the bookshelf, the letters occupying space on the table, a box from a closet unpacked at last, Ashe knows he has nothing to worry about.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


When Yuri returns from a long day, he settles into all the domesticity that is _home_ , in the warm embrace of the man he loves.

(And for every night he dreamt of Ashe, he has an infinite more to spend by his side, through the in-between of liminal spaces and beyond.)

**Author's Note:**

> \- Apparently you need a medical license in order to legally become a tattoo artist in Japan but I ignored that in this au  
> \- I wanted to do my own take with the bird nickname with Ashe since I saw the nickname Sparrow floating around and thought it was cute! Bluebirds signify joy and happiness in the future  
> \- The tattoo sessions might’ve been inaccurate, so I apologize for that. I couldn’t find a site with a straightforward answer for the time needed between sessions so I made an estimate based on how long a tattoo takes to heal (~2-3 weeks).  
> \- If you want to read more of my writing for this ship, I’m planning on writing a Hogwarts au (again)...idk what it’s gonna be about but according to the summary I wrote when I was half asleep it’s apparently including a reverse fake dating au, a musical, and quidditch.  
> \- Thanks for reading! In my head, this was supposed to be 12k. I’m not sure what happened :)


End file.
